


Band Practice

by tonkzart



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-11 00:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 45,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5606215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonkzart/pseuds/tonkzart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy's sister and her friends are in a rock band that's missing a drummer. Clarke can fill that vacancy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Kid on the Block

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first 100 fic and I'm pretty excited to give it a try. Hope you guys enjoy!

“I have a new best friend,” Raven announces when she walks into the apartment she shares with me and Octavia.

Octavia grins at her, watching Raven pick up an apple and hop onto the kitchen counter, where the two of us are getting dinner ready. “Good time with Finn’s band, huh?”

“Oh, he was cheating on me,” Raven dismisses with a smile. O and I drop everything.

“Are you _serious_?”

“Rae! Are you okay?”

“Well, his _other_ girlfriend – you’ll love her, by the way, I’m introducing you – turns out to be the drummer for his band, and she is _spectacular._ I mean, I have never seen such technique in my life – but anyway, as soon as it came out that I was being cheated on and she was the other woman, which she didn’t know, she immediately started beating him around the head with her drumsticks. She was _furious_ , like, more upset than me. So while I’m standing there, she yells that she quits the band, hops off the stage, and comes over to me apologizing like a mile a minute. So I invited her to coffee, and we got to know each other, and deleted Finn’s number from our phones – he kept calling and _calling_ , both of us, the scum – and I mentioned that we need a new drummer in _our_ band and we’re having auditions on Monday.”

Dead silence for a beat.

“ _What_?” Octavia blurts.

I shove my ladle into the pot I’m stirring with a _clang_. “That fucking asshole. I’m going to kick his ass.”

Raven grabs my arm, effortlessly stopping me from marching away. “No need, friend. Clarke took care of that for us.”

“Are you sure about this, Raven?” Octavia asks, placing a hand on Rae’s knee. “This seems awfully fast to decide you love the girl who was sleeping with your boyfriend.”

“Oh no no, you haven’t met her,” Raven assures. “She honestly is so mad she let Finn take her in like that, and I probably will be too once I’ve processed a bit more, but for now I just wanna have this. I have a new kickass friend, and hopefully a new bandmate.”

O still looks unconvinced, and I am definitely seething, but it’s Raven’s life, so I’ve gone back to stirring the pasta sauce.

“Here, watch this.” Raven pulls up a YouTube video for Octavia, probably of her new best friend performing, since a driving drumbeat echoes from behind me. It’s steady and rock-solid, not overpowering the band’s sound, but it’s inventive. I’m not in the girls’ band, but I know my fair share about music, and the drummer is nothing but compelling.

“Holy shit,” Octavia mumbles in the silence after the song.

“I know, right?” Raven gushes. “She’ll be here Monday. I signed her up for a time slot.”

“This feels a little like loading the dice, but I kind of don’t care,” O remarks, pulling out plates from the cabinet.

“The girls won’t know what hit them,” Raven agrees.

“Bell?” Octavia inquires.

“It’s your band,” I reply. “I have no opinion.” The girls both snort.

“Yeah, okay, momager,” Raven puffs, hopping off the counter.

“You have an opinion on _everything_ ,” O grins.

“Okay, maybe I have an opinion, but it doesn’t matter. If she’s that good, she’s in. It’s your decision.” I take the plates out of my sister’s hands and start setting the table.

“You’re really serious about getting out of my business, aren’t you,” Octavia marvels.

“You’re going to college soon. I’m gonna pretend I didn’t just see the eyeroll that almost knocked your eyeballs out of your head and instead focus on making the most of the time I have left with my baby sister,” I croon, bearing down on her with outstretched arms. Raven laughs in the background while Octavia flees my overdramatic brotherly affection. I manage to land one sloppy juicy kiss on her cheek before the oven timer beeps.

“SICK. Now I have to go remove three layers of skin,” O moans, escaping my grip and slamming her door.

Raven hovers near me while I take dinner out of the oven, but once it’s out, I set it down and she lets me hug her, patting her back with my oven mitts.

“I’ll be okay,” she mumbles, pulling away. I glance her over, thinking how short of a time it’s been since she moved in and yet how close we feel. Raven and Finn used to share an apartment, but when Finn’s band took to the road a little over four months ago with a new drummer and an even newer glow of success, she moved in. That bastard had begged her to wait for him while he toured for a year. It’s sobering to think she’s only a little older than Octavia.

“Ah, you crazy kids,” I huff. “Let’s eat.”

-

“Okay, I’m going to find parking,” I begin, idling at the curb in front of the bar. “Go in the front, find Miller, and stay out of the way until he gives you the okay, okay? I’ll be in once I can find a damn spot somewhere in this city.”

“All right already, Dad,” Harper grumbles, sliding out of the backseat along with Monroe and Raven. Octavia kisses me on the cheek before vacating shotgun. The girls all pull their instruments out of the trunk and walk up to the door.

“Be safe,” I call. “Do not accept drinks from anyone!”

“Oh my _god_ , Bellamy,” O groans, not looking back.

I circle a few blocks until I’m able to parallel park. Briskly, I trudge through the cold city until I’m back at the bar. When I walk in, the girls have set up a table in the front corner, by the windows. Several patrons are in booths nursing drinks, but three tables near the stage are occupied by girls of all types. I school my face into the harshest set I can manage, used for discouraging men from approaching my sister. I place myself at a table between the young girls and the booths of drinking men. Miller nods to me from behind the bar and I raise a hand in greeting.

“You girls can go ahead whenever,” Miller calls to the band. Octavia mounts the stage and launches into her greeting speech. A bell dings as someone enters the bar, just as Miller brings me a beer unsolicited and I look in the opposite direction to thank him.

“Bellamy Blake?”

A steady beat starts up from the first audition as I take in who’s spoken to me. A girl with wavy blonde hair and bright blue eyes – can eyes naturally be that bright? – stands opposite my seat at the table. She gives me a small wave and a smile as I try to place her. Suddenly it all clicks when I notice her army green jacket.

“Clarke Griffin. You’re _that_ Clarke,” I realize, motioning to the chair across from me. Her smile widens and she sits. “I haven’t seen you since high school.”

“I’m glad you remember me,” she confesses, pulling her hair into a ponytail. “That would’ve been awkward.”

“You were the only freshman in Latin class,” I reply. “You would be hard to forget.”

“Ambitious and memorable, that’s me.” Clarke taps on the tabletop. “I didn’t know you were still here. Not _here_ here, but in the city.”

I point toward the stage, where they’re on their third drummer. “My sister Octavia – she’s got the red hair bow – is finishing up her senior year,” I explain.

“She’s the… bassist, right?” Clarke guesses. “Wow, small world.”

I want to say something to explain the degrees of our connection, but telling her about sharing an apartment with the girl who she helped cheat on, and knowing all the details about it, might be a little too weird for a first conversation.

“They’re a great band, you know,” I say instead.

“They’re so young. Are they all seniors?”

I shake my head. “No, Raven’s a year older.” Clarke nods. She probably already knew that. “Octavia, Harper, and Monroe are all eighteen now. You probably don’t – ”

“I do remember them,” she cuts me off, looking me in the eye. “Our high school was not _that_ big. Raven, too. _She_ actually doesn’t remember _me_ , but she was pretty wrapped up in Finn back in high school.” Her face is beginning to color. I have no idea how to respond, but, blessedly, a distraction arises in the form of a girl practically falling over the hi-hat cymbal and crashing off the stage. The girls all rush up to help her, and Clarke takes the opportunity to slip away from our table and order a drink from the bar. She doesn’t return, just slides over to the band’s table and pats Raven on the shoulder while the next hopeful launches into her audition. I realize I’ve been watching her since the bar, and I pick up my beer quickly and take a large draught, feeling warm.

After that, Clarke takes one of the vacated spots at the tables filled with other drummers. I can see her making small talk in my line of vision to the stage. She’s probably the oldest here – she was legally allowed to buy alcohol, while other glasses on the table are filled with water.

I pull out a book to pass the time.

The girls trickle away one at a time, the band giving them warm words of encouragement and thanks. I’m so proud of Octavia for being such a genuinely diplomatic person.

Finally there’s only one left. The door closes on their last contender, and Raven whirls around sharply in her seat. “Clarke!”

“Hmm?” Her head jerks up from her own book. With a quick grin, she sheds her jacket and says hi to the other girls. Settling behind the drums looks so natural to her.

The only people left in the bar are myself and Miller.

“Um, hey, I’m Clarke Griffin,” she introduces herself. “Okay, this is weird. Okay.”

Without another word, she launches herself into a riff that feels like a bee sting. All four girls jerk back in their seats, Miller drops a glass behind the bar. A filling in my tooth feels like it’s been knocked loose. I exchange a wide-eyed glance with him.

A withering cymbal crash closes out the musical phrase. “Holy shit,” I whisper, and in the quiet space everyone can hear it.

Octavia, Raven, Harper, and Monroe give each other blistering smiles before Raven bellows, “CLARKE GRIFFIN _PLEASE_ BE OUR NEW DRUMMER.”

“YESSSSSSSSS,” Clarke cheers, and then all four girls are rushing her and Octavia is jumping up and down hugging her and it’s like all their dreams have come true.

I pack up my bag, smiling while they all exchange contact information and determine a time to meet.

“All right, I’m pulling up the car,” I announce to my charges. Octavia gives me her bass (“why did we even bring our instruments, this was stupid”), but before I can leave, Raven runs up to me, pleading to let Clarke sleep over.

“We don’t have enough seats in the car,” I reply, being loaded up with more bags and cases from the other girls.

“I can take the other two home,” Miller offers. “I’m almost done closing up.” Harper shoots me a thumbs-up.

“All right, sure,” I find myself saying. “Don’t head out until I pull up at the curb.”

Twenty minutes later, I let Octavia, Raven, and Clarke Griffin into the apartment and they disappear, gesticulating largely, into the girls’ bedroom.

-

My alarm goes off at 6:30. I huff before dragging myself into some clothes and moving out to the dark kitchen to pour myself a bowl of cereal.

Without turning on any lights (too early), I trudge over to where I know the couch is and sit down, and immediately I know something is wrong.

I leap up immediately when I feel the foot beneath me move and stifle a strangled cry in my throat. It’s Clarke. Has to be. If not, this is a pretty weird burglar.

The lumpy blanket shifts and Clarke is exposed. Like, more exposed than I expected. Octavia must have given her one of her old shirts to sleep in, because it’s way too small. Her bottom half is still, thankfully, covered by the blanket. I don’t wanna know.

I leave the car keys on the counter along with some money and a note telling the girls to go ahead and get breakfast on me before Octavia heads to school and Raven to work, and Clarke to wherever she’s going. I’ll take public transport to work today.

-

When I get home, Octavia and Raven talk my ear off about the great Clarke.

“She plays like ten instruments – ”

“She’s friends with _Lexa_ – ”

“She moved out of her mom’s house and went to – ”

“Yes, yes, her hair’s insured for ten thousand dollars and she does car commercials in Japan,” I cut them off after my third aborted attempt to reach the shower. “Guys, you’re seeing her again tonight at rehearsal. Would you let me get cleaned up now so I can actually take you there?”

Monroe’s entertaining Clarke when the rest of the band shows up and heads to her garage.

“Okay, so I listened to the recordings that Rave sent me and – what?” The girls are all looking at Clarke apprehensively.

“You didn’t like it, did you?” Harper cries, eyes wide. “Oh shit. _Shit_.”

“Please don’t leave us,” Monroe begs, leaving her keyboard unplugged.

“What? Guys!” Clarke exclaims, settling onto her stool. “You’re fantastic, really. I was just going to say that I had some ideas to maybe show you all in ‘Ride On Satisfaction’. It’s a really solid song, and it’s got a good beat, but your last drummer – ”

“Glass,” Octavia offers.

“Yeah, Glass Sorenson! We were friends back in high school,” Clarke nods. “She and I worked on some stuff after graduation, and let’s just say I’ve never been the same since. Here, check it out,” and she busts out a quick-tapping frenetic riff.

“I love you,” Raven says casually. “I’ve mentioned that, right?”

Octavia looks over at me. “Bye, Bellamy,” she says pointedly.

“Right,” I grunt. “I’ll get out of your way.”

Even though it’s cold outside, I sit in the car out front. It’s easier to hear the rehearsal from outside than it is in the house.

When Octavia and Raven come outside, they’re flushed and look tired. They each let out a satisfied sigh when they settle in the back seat.

“Good rehearsal?”

“The best,” O breathes. She kicks my seat. “Get going, I’m starving.”

-

Over the next few weeks, I sit in my car while rehearsal bangs along inside Monroe’s garage. When December rolls around, though, Octavia comes out to the car and invites me to sit inside with them.

“It’s freezing out here, but you just have to know everything that we play, don’t you, busybody?” she scolds, bustling me in through the house.

“I’m fine,” I manage to get out through my chattering teeth. When she plunks me down on a spare stool, Clarke decides to make a batch of hot chocolate – for _everyone_ , she says pointedly. I can’t say no if there’s enough for everyone. O must have told her some possibly true things about my potential to maybe sometimes be stubborn.

Clarke hands me a steaming mug and rubs my arm while I take my first few sips. “Thanks,” I sigh out. “It’s delicious.”

She shoots me a smile before heading back over to her drums with her own mug. “Okay, girls, let’s nail this bitch!”

The band sets down their hot chocolate and makes a few last minute tuning adjustments. When they break into their first song, “Manic Criminal”, I almost spit out the drink in my mouth. It’s incredibly tight, Clarke’s strong drumbeat keeping them going. The band has always been good, even before Glass went off to school, but this… If the people who turned them down for live shows could hear them now, they would be kicking themselves.

More importantly, the girls are clearly having a lot of fun. They aren’t as focused on staying in tune, they’re engaging with each other, shooting mischievous smiles and loaded glances every which way as the song requires. They’ve picked up the tempo, too. My foot taps along.

I applaud loudly when they slide off their last chord. Raven bobs her head at me, like “yeah, we know”.

The rehearsal is crazy. The band is tight, and I can tell they’re excited, if nervous, about having an audience. It’s a good thing it’s just me, then, because I’ve been their cheerleading section for two years.

Clarke is so unbelievably good. I can’t believe she was once the tiny girl from Latin class, confusing declensions with conjugations. Her talent is downright intimidating. When she looks up in my direction from her drums in the middle of “Elegance Riot”, my face gets a little warm.

On the drive home, in between my expostulations about how good Octavia has gotten with all this practice, O and Raven lodge a request with me.

“We want you to film us.”

“Just here? In the garage?”

“Yeah,” Raven says, a little sheepishly. “We want to start making a portfolio of performances we can send out to bars or places in the area where we can play live shows.”

“And post to YouTube, of course,” Octavia adds. “Maybe get noticed?”

I make sure to hold the phone in my hand steady the next day while the girls pound out “False Hundred”.

-

The YouTube channel I started running for the girls reaches 100 subscribers. Their most popular video has 3,000 hits. I call Miller to see if I can beg a favor out of him.

After his bar closes, the girls and I have full rein. Clarke has a Long Island Iced Tea, but Miller only serves the young ones soda. Raven manages to get a beer off him anyway.

I hang out at the bar with him, trying not to look at Clarke while the girls prod her for details on what is apparently a song in the works.

“I’ll have plenty of time to work on it over Christmas,” she promises.

“What, no big plans?” Raven inquires.

“My mom and I aren’t on speaking terms, and if I go to my extended family Christmas, she’ll be there,” Clarke explains quietly.

The girls are quiet for a moment, then Octavia says it.

“Have Christmas with us.”

“I don’t know how your brother will feel about that,” Clarke replies, still subdued.

“Bellamy?” O calls.

“Yeah, I heard,” I say, turning from the bar. I honestly don’t know if I’m going to say yes or no to Octavia’s demand, but then I see Clarke’s face. She’s trying to act nonchalant about the situation, but I can see poorly-veiled hope in her bright eyes, the most astonishing shade of blue. It’s the first time I’ve really shared a look with her, even though it’s been over a month since she joined the band. I don’t know why she seems to want to spend the holidays in our tiny apartment, but I wouldn’t be opposed to finding out. “You’re absolutely welcome,” I find myself saying, putting my hand on Octavia’s shoulder.

Raven and O cheer and Harper and Monroe start chattering about plans to come over for tree decorating and hot chocolate. Clarke’s face lights up. She’s smiling a full, beautiful smile, still locked on to my gaze, and I’m a little bit frozen in place. Octavia stands up, knocking my hand off her shoulder, and I break eye contact, heading back to the bar.

“Christmas,” I mutter. Clarke follows me and shows up at my elbow.

“Thank you,” she says gently. “I’ll be out of the way, I promise. I just – this means a lot.”

“It means a lot to the girls too,” I tell her, glancing over at the laughing group. “They’ll have a lot of fun.”

“Will you have fun?” Clarke questions. “I don’t want to be a nuisance. If you want to change your mind, I won’t be offended.”

“Never,” I counter. Her mouth forms a tiny smile again. “It’ll be great.”


	2. Little Drummer Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glass and Luke are real characters from the books, just in case you don't know.
> 
> Oh, also, if it's not clear, I switch POVs between Bellamy and Clarke every chapter.

Raven and Octavia have a blow-up mattress waiting for me in their shared room when I walk in the Monday before Christmas. The already cramped room is now almost impossible to enter.

“It’s fine, we’ll only be in here to sleep,” Octavia insists when I say I can sleep on the couch.

“Where’s your stuff?” Raven asks, eyeing my small duffel bag.

“Oh, it’s, um, out in my car,” I stammer. I parked it a few apartments down from their place, still close enough for me to get anything I need, but far enough that no one can just look out the window and see through the windshield. “Don’t worry, if I need anything I’ll just run out.”

We turn on a movie and Octavia pops some popcorn. I grab the blanket over the back of the couch and cocoon myself in it.

Bellamy walks in the door after an hour of the movie, carrying a large box. Octavia descends upon it, pulling out garlands and an ornament.

“Where did you get all this?”

“I asked around,” Bellamy replies, ears pink from the cold. “Some of the guys had their wives bring in extra Christmas decorations they didn’t need.”

I don’t know where he works. Just one more thing to add to my growing list of questions I need to work up the courage to ask.

“We have Christmas decorations!” Octavia cheers. Raven and I exchange a surreptitious look.

In bed that night, all squashed into our close beds, she explains that they haven’t had Christmas since their mom died.

“We couldn’t really afford it,” she murmurs into the quiet. “We don’t need a tree or anything fancy to make it meaningful. He always makes sure that I have a present, but some years I couldn’t get him one in return. Once we start making money in the band, I want to repay him for everything he’s done. He works so hard…” Octavia drifts off to sleep.

I definitely do not. While the girls breathe deeply, I sneak down to my car and drive to the nearest twenty-four hour supermarket. I don’t have a lot of money, but I have enough to buy a small synthetic Christmas tree. The pine needles are a sparkly pink, but it’s better than the nothing I brought into their home.

When I’m almost done setting it up in the corner of the living room, trying to stay quiet, Bellamy’s door opens. I jump about a mile.

“Clarke?” he hisses. I’ve turned on a table lamp, but the light is dim. “What is that?”

“You don’t have a tree,” I simply state. “I know I said I’d stay out of the way and all that, but I honestly can’t afford to get any of you presents, and I’m so sorry about that, but I just had to contribute.”

“Contribute?” Bellamy steps closer, so I can see his face. Not that I’m sure I want to. I still don’t know what to make of the elder Blake. “There is no expectation from you, Clarke. We invited you to spend the holiday with us so that you won’t be by yourself and is that tree pink?” I shrug, so he comes even closer to examine it. “Oh my god, you got Octavia a pink tree. This is going to firmly cement you in her mind as the greatest person ever.”

“What an honor.” The sentence was supposed to be mildly sarcastic, but I end up saying it genuinely. “She’s a cool girl.”

“Preaching to the choir, Griffin,” Bellamy grins. “I taught her everything she knows, you know.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s her jersey number?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “I taught her everything _she_ knows, not everything _I_ know.”

Back in high school, Bellamy Blake was the star of the basketball team, student officer of the vocational program, and romantic lead in a lot of my friends’ pubescent fantasies. Actually, thinking about his athletic past has given me an idea for a present that I can afford. A lame idea, but once again better than nothing.

“Well, I’ll hit the hay, then,” I excuse myself, feeling awkward. “Mission: Tree is accomplished.”

“And I’ll head to work,” Bellamy says, watching until I close the bedroom door.

-

In the morning, I tell the girls I have to run to the bank in order to escape the apartment alone. _One of these days you really_ will _be making a deposit_ , I promise myself. One stop at the same supermarket and I’m done with my incredibly cheap Christmas shopping.

When I return to the apartment, Harper and Monroe are digging through Bellamy’s box of decorations.

“A sparkle for a Clarkle,” Harper proclaims as she drapes silver tinsel over my shoulders.

“Lovely nickname,” I scoff. “It sounds like a fractured bone.”

“Or a wracking cough,” Monroe offers helpfully.

“Even better.” Thinking of medical things makes me remember my mom. I change the topic before I can dwell too much. “What is that monstrosity?”

“I think it’s an entire mistletoe plant,” Monroe guesses, hefting a round green bundle into her arms. “They know mistletoe is only supposed to be a sprig or two, right?”

“Well, just don’t eat it.”

Octavia steps out of her room, closing the door again behind her. “No one enters, there is present wrapping afoot.”

“Can I have a turn when Raven’s done in there?” I request. “I need some wrapping done myself.”

“I thought you were at the bank!” Octavia accuses.

A shrug and a grin. “I lied.”

Monroe throws a handful of mistletoe at my head.

The rest of the day is spent putting every decoration somewhere in the apartment, including loading my little pink tree down with gaudy ornaments. The red and gold and green totally clash with the fake needles. It’s so beautiful. When Bellamy comes home, looking grimy and sweaty (where _does_ he work?), he actually squints in pain.

“I was not aware this is what I was signing up for by inviting you for the holidays,” he grumbles. For a second I’m a little hurt, but then I see Octavia rolling her eyes and smiling behind her brother. I’ll figure out Bellamy Blake yet.

-

The next day, Christmas Eve, the girls and I rehearse for almost eight hours. Monroe’s garage is chilly, but today has been declared our ugly sweater day, so we make it through without frostbite. Plus, playing drums is active work. I’m sweaty by the end of the first hour.

“That’s hot,” Raven monotones when I have to wipe my pits with a towel. Of course, right then is when Bellamy decides to walk in bearing sandwiches. I fling the towel away so violently that it crashes against my ride cymbal.

“Thanks, den mother,” Harper grins through a mouthful of sandwich.

“Make fun of me all you want,” Bellamy growls, “I’ll just embarrass you even harder at your shows. I’ll sit in the front row with a 1980s camera on a tripod. I’ll lead actual cheerleading cheers. I’ll rush the stage as soon as your encore’s over and kiss you all on the face. Don’t test me.”

“Joke’s on you,” Octavia gloats, “we don’t HAVE any shows. OWNED.”

“That was a really bad ownage,” Monroe mutters.

“That reminds me, I’ve gotta text Glass,” I remember, pulling my phone out of my back pocket.

“Why?” Raven asks, polishing off her half of our shared sandwich.

Shit. Glass asked me not to say anything yet. “Nothing,” I dismiss. “Just my train of thought getting away from me.”

Unlocking my phone drives Glass out of my head, though. My cousin Callie has sent me a photo from our family Christmas. Her little daughter Kass is sitting in my mom’s lap. I stuff my phone away again.

After the food is gone, we pack up our instruments (well, I don’t, the drum kit stays in Monroe’s garage) and head home, dropping Harper off on the way.

“I have a request,” Octavia declares as we climb the stairs to the second-floor apartment.

“I’m listening,” Bellamy replies.

“We should all open one present tonight,” O suggests. “That way the anticipation won’t keep us up all night.”

“I’m all for immediate gratification,” Raven agrees.

Bellamy delays by unlocking the door.

“IT’S KILLING ME, BELLAMY, I CAN’T WAIT MUCH LONGER,” Octavia cries, gripping his arms before he can walk inside.

“Just say yes and we can go inside,” I point out.

“Sure, fine,” he acquiesces, so the four of us gather in the small space on the floor in front of the garish tree.

Raven chooses her largest present, which is from Octavia. The box reads “Teen Circumcision Training Kit.”

“I figured it’d be funny,” O explains simply.

“That’s fucking hysterical,” Raven approves. “I love it.”

Octavia and Bellamy have both claimed gifts from me, I notice apprehensively. I really hope they’re good enough for O’s “anticipation” to be satisfied.

Bellamy makes O unwrap hers, a t-shirt printed all over with iridescent butterflies.

“I know it’s not much,” I blurt out before she even reacts, “but I saw it and it made me think of you.”

“Oh my god, Clarke, this is great,” Octavia gushes, surging forward to hug me. “Bell, open yours.”

“Okay, it’s kind of a gag gift,” I babble again. He looks up at me skeptically as the paper comes off.

“An over-the-door basketball hoop,” he states, holding it at arm’s length.

“Complete with inflatable basketball. Yeah, you know, we were talking about it earlier and I figured you might need to start practicing again.”

That gets his interest. “Need to practice?”

“Well, if you’re gonna teach Octavia everything you know, you’ll need to brush up on your skills.”

“Is this a challenge I’m hearing, Griffin?” Bellamy leans in, smirking.

I know absolutely nothing about basketball. “Yeah, why not?” I agree anyway. Octavia and Raven are doing that tennis-match thing with their eyes.

Bellamy leaps to his feet fluidly. “Two on two. Octavia?”

“Absolutely not,” she declines flatly.

“One on one it is,” he declares. Then he thrusts his hand in my face. “Get up and blow that basketball up to its full four-inch diameter.”

I take his hand and he pulls me up easily. Good lord, is he strong.

Five minutes later, with the ball blown up and the hoop assembled on his bedroom door, Octavia films my total crushing defeat at the hands of the famed Bellamy “Rebel” Blake, hero of our high school.

“Thanks for going easy on her,” Raven grins as I slump into her lap on the couch.

“And thanks for not slapping her ass as a ‘good game’ congratulation,” O adds.

“Hey, I never even did that in high school,” Bellamy objects. “Man, that was a long time ago.”

“Hit the showers, kid,” I grumble. “At least I made ONE point.”

“By throwing the big ball of mistletoe at his face,” Raven laughs. The mistletoe bunch had burst apart on contact, leaving it scattered everywhere on the floor. “You could have just used it to kiss him into distraction.”

Bellamy’s face is all red. He must have actually been exerting himself in this game. Maybe I actually gave him a run for his money.

That’s when my phone rings and I excuse myself to the kitchen to answer it. The party breaks up while I walk away.

“Hey, Glass,” I answer when I’m safely sequestered.

“Merry Christmas, Clarke,” she greets. “Why are you being all quiet?”

“I’m in a 900 square foot apartment with two of the other girls, and you wanted this to be a surprise,” I hiss.

“Oh shit, sorry. Well, I just wanted to let you know that we are a go for the wedding! Luke is totally on board with having my favorite band play us into married life.”

“That’s great! I can’t wait to tell everyone.”

“Sorry it’s so short notice, but you know.”

“No worries, honey.” The story goes like this: Glass left the band when her fiancé Luke proposed, because Luke is in the Air Force and they’ll have to move around the country. Glass hadn’t wanted to hire the girls for her reception before because she wasn’t sure if they would find a new drummer, or if she’d be any good. Luckily, they found me. “Trust me, they are totally ready to go. Just today we were talking about starting to play shows.”

“I trust you, sweets. Give them my best, and tell them I want ‘False Hundred’ played or I’m kicking their asses. I saw the YouTube video of you guys playing it and it is UNREAL.”

“Thanks, Glass. Talk about a Christmas miracle. Tell Luke I said hi.” I hang up quietly. I need to take a shower before bed. I'll tell Raven and Octavia the news tomorrow, as a real Christmas present.

Just as I reach the open bathroom door, Bellamy exits through it, and we collide. I step back to steady myself, slip on one of the strewn mistletoe bunches, and nearly smack my head on the opposite wall. The only reason I don't is that Bellamy scrambles to catch me, somehow ending up awkwardly balancing me on his leg, my arms wide from pinwheeling.

“Sorry!” I squeak, looking up into his surprised face.

“Not your fault,” Bellamy says, lifting me upright. “I'll clean this up.”

I'm distracted for my entire shower, comparing the incident to the basketball game, where Bellamy had used his height and strength to his advantage to block my shots. I shake off the memory of his presence at my back while I dribbled the flat little ball.

I slide into bed with Octavia and Raven, our mattresses practically close enough to equal one king bed, and together we count down the minutes to midnight and Christmas Day.


	3. Goin' to the Chapel, Gonna Get Married

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to make all my chapter titles songs, artists, or lyrics. I hope they're not too cheesy!

Clarke leaves two days after Christmas, but she’s still around almost as much as when she was under our roof. The girls’ last drummer, Glass, has hired them to play her wedding in three weeks, the band’s first paying gig. They slide into the new year hard at work – literally, they miss the ball drop at midnight on New Year’s because they’re in the middle of rehearsing a song. Then again, I can’t judge, because I’m right there with them in the garage, scrolling through my phone.

The YouTube channel I set up is still gaining attention, slowly but surely; we get maybe twenty new subscribers every day, even though there are only five videos posted. Maybe the girls would do a behind-the-scenes vlog or something, let their fans get to know them.

The comments on their channel are mostly positive, to my relief. Obviously trolls show up here and there, no surprise, but they seem to be reaching an audience of girls like them, in rock bands trying to get noticed. Supportive family members and friends pepper the thread as well. Just yesterday, to my amusement, they even got a “come to Brazil!!”

I’m going through the comments on the latest video I posted when I find out something totally unexpected.

_Is that Clarke Griffin on drums? I never would’ve expected her to switch to rock ‘n’ roll! Keep up the good work!_

What does that mean? She “switched” to rock music?

On a hunch, I simply type “clarke griffin” in the search bar. The first tiny thumbnail that I see definitely looks like her, but in a pale pink dress that I could never have pictured her in. Interested, I load the video, plugging in my earbuds surreptitiously.

“Thank you so much,” Video Clarke says solicitously, her voice tinny from my bad headphones. She’s on a stage, and there’s an audience clapping out of frame. Strapped around her shoulder is a miniscule instrument that I recognize as a mandolin. “I have a feeling you all know this next one.” She strums a few sharp chords. “Here it is: Dusty River.”

The audience whoops and hollers as the song starts. Clarke is playing her mandolin, and as the camera pans out I see a double bass player, a fiddler, a guitarist, and a banjo player lined up on the stage beside her.

“Well, when my darlin’ looked at me and said,

‘Sugar, I know you don’t want me to go,’

I had no choice but to hang my heavy head,

And let my feelings like the river start to flow.”

There are several reasons that I’m suddenly astonished. First of all, I’m watching Clarke and her unfamiliar band play a bluegrass show. Secondly, I find myself actually liking it. But that’s probably tied into the third reason: her voice is indescribably captivating.

Just like her drumming, Clarke’s singing voice is powerful and unexpected coming out of that little blonde body. It’s sweet and melodic, but it’s technically advanced as well, showing off her wide range without any sound of vocal strain. It’s totally pure and I feel like I’m watching a force of nature.

I look up at Clarke on the drums, just finishing up whatever song I can’t hear through the headphones. The girls have only ever written instrumental songs, none of them confident enough in their singing voices to showcase them. That’s always been enough. Clarke has never, to my knowledge, expressed interest in adding lyrics to any of the songs, or writing new ones with words either. The song she had promised to work on over Christmas got pushed to the wayside when Glass hired the band. Even so, she probably didn’t give it lyrics, since that’s not their style.

Ridiculously, I’m feeling a little robbed of her vocal talent.

Abruptly, I stand up, yanking my earbuds out. This is stupid to be thinking about right now.

“Bell?” Octavia questions, my sharp movement having gotten everyone’s attention.

“You guys should probably finish up,” I deflect. “It’s after midnight.”

“Happy new year!” Harper and Monroe both exclaim, a little lamely since it’s overdue.

“And no New Year’s kiss for the first time!” Raven cheers sarcastically. I can infer: Finn was her New Year’s kiss for at least three years running.

“I’ll be your kiss,” Clarke volunteers. Harper and Monroe shrug and give each other a smack on the lips.

“Where does that leave me?” Octavia complains. “I am NOT kissing my brother. One of you do it.”

Before I can lodge my offense at my own sister betraying me, Clarke stands up from her drums and my words die in my throat. She’s not actually gonna come over and kiss me, is she?

In fact, she is not. She raises her eyebrows at O (“yay!”) and they exchange an innocent peck.

“Happy new year,” Clarke intones, rolling her eyes good-naturedly.

“Damn, Bellamy, your face,” Raven comments, standing next to me. I hadn’t noticed her move. “You could look a little less repulsed by the thought of kissing me. Whatever, sourpuss, let’s do this.”

My brain seems to be moving sluggishly tonight, because she plants one on my lips before I can even get a word in edgewise.

“There ya go,” I grunt when it’s all over. “Everyone’s kissed, everyone’s happy, let’s go home.”

“And a happy new year,” Octavia retorts, rolling her eyes at my tone.

-

The day of the wedding begins with my donning Miller’s best tux. It’s his only tux, but he’s not going to this wedding, so it doesn’t matter. The bow tie, as I feared, is going nightmarishly.

I slide out of my room in my besocked feet and pound on the girls’ door.

“Octavia!” They’re playing girly getting-ready music. It’s not that loud, but it’s annoying.

O opens the door with one hand, the other one hooking an earring into her lobe. “What?”

I gesture to the dangling ends of my tie. My sister sighs.

“I can’t help you, big brother,” she admits.

“Seriously?” I shout. “Raven!”

“No can do, big guy,” Raven apologizes from her bed, where she’s painting her toenails.

“How can you not know how to tie a bow tie?” I return to Octavia.

“Do you ever remember me going to a black-tie event in my short life?” O shoots back. “Much less with a guy who can get past your insane standards?”

I grumble about formal wear for a few seconds.

“Look, Clarke’s gonna be here soon, she can do it for you,” Raven calls from inside the room.

“Fine.” Not fine. Five minutes later, I’m pretty sure I’m trapped forever in the chokehold that I’ve gotten myself into. I just panicked and wound the bow tie tighter and tighter into a Boy Scout’s nightmare.

I hear the front door close and the girls’ door open. “Can you help Bellamy out?” Octavia requests. “He’s having some issues with basic male fashion.”

Clarke pokes her head in my open door. “Whoa,” she laughs when she sees my predicament. “Your face is so red,” she then notices, getting concerned. “Are you okay?”

I don’t want to risk responding and asphyxiating myself, so I just roll my eyes.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she determines, coming to inspect the damage. She reaches up to tug gently on the bow tie. “What kind of Gordian knot did you create here?” she muses, her hands brushing against my chin.

“Nice reference,” I choke out appraisingly.

“You a big fan of Greek mythology?” Clarke asks, her eyes flitting up to mine while she wiggles the fabric loose.

“Actually, it’s Phrygian,” I correct, able to breathe a little easier now.

“Don’t be a pedant,” she scolds gently. “Most people wouldn’t even know that legend.”

“Well, I’m not most people.”

“You certainly aren’t,” she agrees. “No one else could strangle themselves with a simple – bow tie!” she punctuates with a triumphant flourish, brandishing the loose tie in her hand like a magician finishing a trick.

“Thanks.” I reach for it, but she holds her hand out in front of her.

“I think I’ll handle it this time.” She slides the fabric under my collar again, and with a few deft strokes, completes the perfect knot.

I turn to check her work in the mirror and catch sight of her retreating figure in the glass, and just like that, the mystery that is Clarke Griffin is gone again.

I flip through the channels on the TV while I wait for the girls to get ready. O and Raven were pretty far along when I saw them, but Clarke was still in her jeans while she fixed my tie, so I have no idea how long this will take. It turns out she’s a pretty quick study, because Octavia emerges within half an hour.

“Grand entrance time,” she declares.

“I was expecting this from you,” I affirm, switching off the TV.

“First up, obviously,” she gestures down her own body, swathed in a floaty dark blue number. Her hair has been French braided, the long tail draped over her shoulder. I’m not that good with fashion, so that’s all I can really take in at a glance. I applaud politely, to which O rolls her eyes.

“Now the stunning Raven Reyes.” Raven wears her long hair down, a becoming change from her usual ponytail. It’s no surprise that her dress is black, though the cap sleeves add a feminine edge she usually doesn’t like to show.

“Simply divine,” I say snottily, applauding again.

“And finally, supermodel Clarke Griffin,” O introduces, and she and Raven both gesture Vanna White-style as Clarke emerges between them.

I am totally fucked.

I know this because my brain catalogues every detail of Clarke’s ensemble. Her dark green dress is strapless and hugs her body, ending past the knee, giving her sparkly heels their own showcase. Her shining hair is swept cleanly into a simple updo, but two loose strands frame her face. Which is distracting in its own right, burgundy lips and something bringing out rosiness on her cheeks. Her eyelids are glittery, highlighting those bluest of eyes, ringed with long lashes. The eyes that I have been locked into for what I hope is less than five seconds.

My final applause is just as disinterested as what I gave the other girls, I _hope_.

Raven and Octavia don’t seem to be suspicious of anything weird, though, because they go about putting on their coats and grabbing their guitars before heading out the door. Clarke follows them down the stairs to the parking lot.

For five seconds, I allow myself to stand outside the apartment door after I’ve locked it, feeling the loud thumping in my chest and trying my best to quell it.


	4. Hey Baby, I Think I Wanna Marry You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was totally rushed, so please forgive me if this chapter's not my best work! Thank you for reading!

The wedding makes me cry. Glass is a beautiful girl, but her love for Luke and her happiness on her special day make her incandescent. Luke’s eyes shine and his usual calm demeanor radiates outward, giving everyone in the room a sense of peace and satisfaction. And finally, there’s Wells, the best man, himself crying by their side. His silent tears streak down his face, but he doesn’t move, taking care not to make a scene.

I haven’t seen Wells since I went on the road with Finn’s band in July. Wells and Glass had gone back to school in Phoenix, so even though I made it back to the city in November, I hadn’t been able to see my best friend in person for quite some time. It’s good to see his face.

Bellamy reaches over to hand me a tissue from his inside pocket. I dab at my eyes carefully.

When the ceremony is over and the wedding party walks out, the girls and I run to the back doors, which open onto the hallway that leads to the reception hall. Hurriedly, we dash in and take running leaps onto the high platform, where we’d left the instruments ready to play.

“Okay, girls,” I mutter, waiting for the bride and groom to make their entrance. “Let’s play them in with style.”

And with that, our set starts.

-

The guests seem to approve of our rock vibe, probably because of Glass’s history in the band. They dance for our first half-hour set, and then we break for food.

“This is good,” Raven says, almost to herself.

“We’ve always been good,” I assure her. “This is just us getting to show it off.”

Bellamy approaches the raised platform we’re on and gives Octavia a hand getting down. He reaches back up for Monroe, Harper, Raven, and –

Wells appears next to him.

I make a little squeaky noise and leap down into his arms.

“It’s _so_ good to see you,” I gush, clutching him tightly, my feet still dangling above the floor.

“I have missed you so much,” Wells agrees. Finally, he sets me on my feet. “Look at you!”

“Yeah, I know,” I wave vaguely back at the stage. “It’s been a wild ride since I saw you last.”

“I meant in that dress,” Wells corrects. “You know you belong on the stage. But yes, you’re killing it up there too.”

I turn around to make for the buffet line and catch sight of Bellamy still standing there. “Wells,” I say hurriedly, “this is Bellamy. He’s Octavia’s brother, the bassist.” Bellamy holds out his hand to shake. Wells leans forward eagerly. “And Bellamy, this is Wells, my best friend.”

“Actually, today I’m Glass’s best friend,” Wells disagrees.

“You’re both,” I compromise. “Glass knew you first, but she’s got Luke to distract her, so I can have you.”

“Hey, whoever you are, come get some food with us,” Bellamy invites. The other girls have already made it through the line and are sitting at a close table, where we join them.

“So, graduating this year?” I interrogate Wells.

“Finally,” he confirms.

“Where do you go to school?” Bellamy cuts in.

“Phoenix U,” Wells replies, “all the way out in Arizona. Studying botany, before you ask.”

“Plants and stuff?” Raven asks.

“I like trees a lot,” Wells downplays his field of expertise.

“With a minor in music,” I butt in. “Wells is the best violinist I’ve ever heard.”

“Says the prodigy,” he scoffs. I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, we met freshman year in orchestra and the rest is history.” I wrap my arm around his shoulders.

“You play violin?” Octavia asks skeptically. I flush.

“Only a little,” I white lie.

Thankfully, before I have to change the subject, a distraction arises.

“Clarke Griffin,” a deep voice resounds behind us. “I thought that was you.”

“Mr. Jaha!” I rise from my seat and give Wells’s father a hug. “How are you?”

“Just fine, Clarke,” he smiles. “I just wanted to come over and say hello. And to give you talented girls my regards.”

Harper waves politely, mouth full of salmon.

“Thanks,” Octavia says brightly. “We’re just excited Glass asked us to be here.”

“And speaking of Glass,” Wells cuts in, pushing back his chair. “I’m missing from the wedding party. Can’t let my oldest friend be neglected for too long.”

“Tell her we’re almost ready to start the second set,” I call after him.

We wolf down the rest of our food, taking the stage as gracefully as we can. Bellamy gives most of us a leg up.

-

For over an hour, we nearly exhaust our repertoire of songs. I’m starting to think we might have to repeat songs from earlier in the night and hope no one notices when Wells hauls himself up onto the stage from the back.

“Glass wants to know if she can have a turn,” he whispers into my ear in the middle of the song. I nod and bang into the last chorus.

When the song is finished, Wells swipes Monroe’s mike. “Ladies and gentlemen, I hope that you’ve been enjoying our wonderful musical act – ” he gestures to us through an encouraging bout of applause – “but we’re about to shake things up. Will the bride please take the stage!”

Glass’s laughing head appears, Luke and a groomsman hefting her up onto the platform gracefully. I stand up and let her take my sticks (“thanks, babe”). Wells hops down easily, but I’m not interested in doing the same thing and breaking both my ankles today. Two hands thrust up to help me down – Wells and Bellamy.

“Thanks,” I mutter under the cheers for Glass. “Let’s go dance.”

It’s my only chance to move all night, though it’s weird dancing to what I think of as my own song. Glass hasn’t lost her touch. I hope she finds an outlet for her music wherever she and Luke end up.

As Glass requested, they’re doing another rendition of “False Hundred”, fast-paced and jumpy. Wells and I both jump into the (admittedly small) crowd of guests and let loose. I won’t pretend like I’m good at dancing, but music makes me want to move.

Bellamy still stands on the edge of the fray, and I remember that he really doesn’t know anyone at this wedding. Well, our high school wasn’t that big, so he probably remembers some of Glass’s guests, but he doesn’t seem to have many friends. I reach out and grab his wrist.

“Live a little!” I shout before pulling him in. Then I turn back to Wells, and in sync, we do our signature shoulder shimmy. Feeling better than I have in months, I raise my arms and scream like this is a music festival. Harper’s sharp smile in response is infectious from the stage. She and Raven both hit the hardest chord in the song perfectly.

I look over at Bellamy, who is rocking his shoulders in time to the beat. I’m glad he looks like he’s having a good time, watching Octavia perform for the first audience that isn’t just him. He must be proud.

A glint of light brings my attention back to the stage. The basic colored light setup is working beautifully, each light swiveling and swinging to make the production seem cooler than it actually is. The way they’re positioned now, it looks like Raven has pink streaks in her hair. Glass’s white wedding dress makes her look ultraviolet under the purple light.

I have another wacky idea.

“Clarke!” I whirl. A hand waves at me from the back of the dance floor. I find Wells’s father again seeking me out.

“What’s up?”

Mr. Jaha has a glint in his eye. He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a business card.

“I’ve seen enough of your band tonight to know,” he says into my ear to make sure he’s heard, “that you have something special. You should come by my office or give me a call. Hopefully we can come up with something worth your while.”

I glance at the card. It’s for Mr. Jaha’s record label, Cataclysm. I’ve always known of his involvement in music – Wells was raised around all kinds of bands and genres – but I’ve never thought of using him for my own aspirations of making it big.

“Mr. Jaha, I – ”

“Call me Thelonious, Clarke,” he interrupts. “You certainly don’t need to be thinking of me as just Wells’s father if we’re going to be doing business together.”

Slowly but decisively, I nod. He nods silently in return and walks away.

Now that’s not something you expect to happen when you go to a friend’s wedding.

-

The next day, I call an emergency meeting.

“Make sure your hair is clean and dry,” I stipulate before hanging up on each one of the girls.

Everyone congregates in Monroe’s garage, looking suspicious and confused. First I tell them the news from Jaha.

“We might have a record deal facing us, guys,” I conclude, sitting on my hands in the cold garage. “Guys?”

Octavia’s mouth is agape. Monroe looks like she didn’t hear a word I said. Raven, meanwhile, is clutching Monroe’s jacket like a life raft, eyes wide. Harper finishes off the astonishment by finally screaming weakly.

“THANK YOU GLASS, THANK YOU,” she howls, leaping up and hopping in place.

“I’m gonna take that as a good sign,” I decide.

“What are we gonna do?” Octavia bursts. “How are we gonna do this? What does this mean?”

“Shut up – ” to Octavia – “and call him already!” to me. Raven is never one for a soft approach.

“It’s Sunday,” I point out, still unable to break my smile, “but I’ll call him tomorrow. Or should we go in to talk in person?”

“We have school tomorrow,” Monroe groans.

“Fuck school,” Octavia counters. “I’m skipping. I’m out forever. I don’t care about anything anymore. We’re getting a record deal!”

“Don’t jump the shark just yet, we don’t have anything for a while,” I remind everyone. “But if you wanna come in with me tomorrow, I can’t stop you.”

“That’s right,” Octavia nods decisively.

“And that brings me to my other order of business…” I reach into the canvas bag I dug out of my car and pull out several colorful boxes. “Any objections to a band-bonding exercise/makeover?”

-

It’s lucky that Monroe has such laid-back folks, because the upstairs tub is a nightmare by the time we’re finished with it. I’ve put a different color of streaks in everyone’s hair: Harper got tiny green stripes scattered all over, like Day-Glo highlights; Monroe has wide purple chunks at the front, so she can braid the color back in her favorite style; Octavia keeps shaking her hair so that her bright red streaks catch the light; Raven dip-dyed three inches of her tips hot pink; and Monroe and Octavia teamed up to smear the entire underside of my hair electric blue.

“Now,” I declare, “we look like we can be in a rock band.”


	5. Bleeding Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, tw: blood. I tried to keep it un-gory, but I'm not triggered by blood myself, so I'll just leave the warning here.
> 
> Secondly, everything about construction in this chapter is stuff I just looked up within the hour. So I'm not an expert, and sorry about inaccuracies.

Brushing off the seat of my pants, I swig the last drops out of my water bottle and toss it in an arc into the trash can set apart from the site. Murphy hands me my hard hat, putting his own back on his head.

“Lunchtime’s over, boys!” Kane, the foreman, comes into view as we round the corner. We’re making good progress on the latest cabin; it’s five logs high so far and squared off at the joints. Cabin building isn’t especially hard, but it takes a lot of physical strength and patience for repetition. “Blake, you’re with me on the ground.”

I nod, crossing to where the next log lays on the packed earth. It’s cold out, but most of the guys have stripped down to undershirts by now, sweaty and grimy.

Kane and I stoop to hoist the long log when there are men positioned at the top of the wall to take it from us. “One, two, three!” With a grunt, we get it on our shoulders and wait. The guys up top lash ropes around it quickly and we help push it up as far as we can reach. Then we move on to the next side.

It’s an unorthodox way to build houses, but enough people will pay for an authentic log cabin that business is good. I’ve been on this job for over a year now, the site getting bigger and bigger with a wider market. Thank god for evangelizing outdoorsmen. And -women.

By the time we finish that level, log prep has slowed down enough that there’s not a new log ready for us. Kane dispatches me to fix the problem.

I jog over to log preparation. Each sawlog has to be notched, surprisingly similar to Lincoln Logs, so that we can easily fit them into place. When I see that it’s Atom’s assignment today, I roll my eyes.

“What’s the holdup?” I call. Atom looks up from a broken hacksaw. He waves it gingerly, avoiding the dangling blade.

I draw level with him and sigh, resting my hands on the log while I bend over to see. “You’re using a rip blade for a cross cut,” I point out, trying to remain patient. “No wonder that thing broke.”

“If you’re so good at this, _you_ try,” Atom spits, thrusting the saw at me. It’s a total accident, I know, but it’s kind of hard to think of it that way when the teeth on the swinging blade catch painfully in the back of my hand.

With a yell, I yank the thin blade out of my flesh, blood welling up from miraculously shallow cuts. I flex my fingers to make sure they still work. Shooting Atom a “your ass is grass” glare, I decide to just leave this mess up to Kane’s discretion. I trudge back to the cabin.

“Blake, get that hand looked at,” Kane orders before I can even start explaining the incident.

I bristle. “Sir, it’s just a cut,” I assure him. “I can work through my shift, it was just a stray hacksaw blade.”

“A hacksaw?” Kane’s eyes widen sardonically. “What if that blade had rust? Your risk for infection here, on a construction site, is astronomical. Blake, go see a doctor. Don’t come in again until you do.”

Frustrated, I gather my shirt and gear and drive home. I don’t need to hit up the ER over a scratch. I just go straight to the apartment.

I’m steamed enough that I don’t even notice that the blood’s been flowing, slowly trickling out of my punctures, until I reach for the front doorknob. I open the door with my other hand, stepping into the welcome warmth.

A horrified gasp. “Bellamy, oh my _god_!”

The girls are sitting on the couch, looking somehow different. A second later, I realize Octavia’s hair is partly red. Raven stands up quickly, looking me up and down, and the end of her ponytail comes into view, a shocking pink.

“What did you do?” I demand of my sister.

“What did _you_ do?!” she shrieks back. I look down at my hand, and only then do I catch sight of my cargo pants, half stained with blood.

The sound of the bathroom door opening makes my stomach drop. Great, Clarke’s here. And I’m covered in blood.

“What’s going on out here?” she calls, stopping short when she sees me. For a moment, she takes in the scene, then quickly takes action. “Let me see that – ” she grabs my hand and drags me back to the bathroom for brighter light – “Do you have a first aid kit?”

“Shit, we don’t!” Octavia cries.

“Run to the store and get one,” Clarke instructs. O and Raven sprint out the door, startled by Clarke’s clinical bearing. Hell, I’m a little startled too.

“I’m fine,” I protest. Clarke runs my hand under the faucet, scrubbing away blood that’s still leaking out of holes.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she replies.

“Ow, dammit!”

“You’re fine,” Clarke says impatiently. She prods my clean hand, moves each of my fingers back and forth. “Doesn’t even have a first aid kit…” she mutters. I decide to ignore that. “What did you even do?”

“It’s just a scratch,” I say for what feels like the millionth time. “A saw blade got loose and – ”

“A _saw blade_?!”

“It barely hooked me, see?” I brandish my hand impatiently, even though she’s still holding it. Clarke shudders at the word “hooked”.

“Why were you around saws?” she asks.

“I work in construction,” I explain, suddenly realizing that I’ve never mentioned that before. “That log cabin neighborhood by the highway.”

“I never knew that.” She pauses for a second. “Well, now I can’t scold you for being an idiot around sharp objects if it’s your _job_.”

“I’ll be more careful next time.” The water is still running over my hand, only a little of my blood mixing into it now.

Clarke reaches over and shuts it off. “Got a dark towel?”

I reach under the sink and pull out an old, ratty thing we use as a dust rag. “This’ll do.”

“Try to keep pressure on it.” Clarke moves my other hand on top.

“You’re pretty good at this,” I comment.

Clarke shrugs. “My mom is a doctor. I picked up some stuff.”

Now that the atmosphere is less tense, I notice her blue hair. The blonde still sits on top, but a mass of colored curls peeks out underneath it. It almost exactly matches her eyes.

“That’s a nice color on you,” I say abruptly.

Clarke looks totally confused. I feel my face heat up. “Oh,” she realizes, pulling on a strand. “Yeah, the girls and I decided to try something new. I really like it.”

“Me too.”

Before I can say anything else incriminating and totally embarrassing, the front door slams and Octavia runs to the bathroom, tearing protective plastic from a new first aid kit from the gas station at the corner.

“He’s fine,” Clarke reports, taking the box and popping it open. “It’s a nasty cut, but ointment and a bandage should do the trick.”

“Jesus, Bellamy,” Raven growls. “You come in looking like death and it’s just a cut?”

“‘I am become death, destroyer of worlds,’” Clarke quotes, grinning while she smears ointment on my hand.

“More like destroyer of pants,” Octavia quips. “Can I have those? I can use them when I get my period.”

Clarke winds the bandage a couple of times around my hand, crossing over my thumb and wrist. “All set,” she declares with a final pat. “And now, Bob the Builder, I’m afraid we have some news to give you.”


	6. Little Deuce Coupe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Clarke's secrets start to come out. I know this is really not going the distance for shippers yet, but just hang in there.

Bellamy is not happy to hear that Octavia skipped school to meet with Jaha.

“Well, it’s done,” Octavia insists. “It’s already happened, so just get over it already. We have a _record deal_ , Bell!”

“I’m very happy for you,” Bellamy says flatly. “This is great news.”

Octavia opens her mouth, clearly miffed at her brother’s apathetic reaction. Raven cuts her off before she can speak, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Look, you’ve had a rough day,” she gestures to his bandaged hand, “so we’ll talk more about it in the morning. Guys, let’s go to Monroe’s.”

I grab my coat and leave with them, Octavia stomping out the door.

“Sometimes I can’t believe my brother,” she snarls, pounding down the stairs to the parking lot. “He should be happy for me. You know, Monroe and Harper skipped too!”

“Which one’s your car, Clarke?” Raven asks.

“M-my car?” I startle.

“Well, it’s not like Bellamy’s taking us to rehearsal,” she points out, looking up at the apartment window.

“We’re not even going to rehearsal,” I edge nonchalantly. “I thought we were just trying to get out of the apartment, let everyone cool down.” Octavia scoffs. “Why don’t we just walk down to the gas station and hang out for a while?”

Raven’s sigh is heavy with meaning, along with her loaded glance at Octavia, who has her hands on her hips. “Okay…”

“What?” My stomach suddenly feels hollow, and I know now that I’m going to have to tell them my secret.

“Clarke, why haven’t we ever been to your place?” Octavia asks directly.

I pull my keys out of my coat pocket. “Let’s go to my place,” I say dully.

We walk across the parking lot to where I parked my car, out of sight of their apartment. It chirps when I remote unlock it. “Front seat only,” I instruct, walking around to the driver’s side.

Raven and Octavia cram into the passenger seat together, and I wait for the lightbulb to go off.

“Well, let’s go to your place,” Octavia urges after a few silent seconds.

“We’re already there,” Raven realizes. I turn with trepidation to look at her. Her head is turned to the backseat of my car, crammed with bags and boxes. “Clarke… you’re living in your car?”

“It’s January,” Octavia adds gently. And that’s when I crumple.

Both girls lean over to lay comforting hands on my shuddering back. “Hey, babe, it’s okay.” “We love you, Clarke.” “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Tell you?” I cry. “Tell you that even though I have a mother nearby with a huge, warm house and food, I’m ungrateful enough to still choose to sleep in my car? That I only have enough money for gas and food and can’t afford to pay even the cheapest rent? I haven’t been able to get a job in three months of being back in the city! My cut of the check from Glass is going to keep me afloat for the next month!”

“Hang on,” Raven cuts me off. “Just breathe. We’re here if you want to talk about it, but if you don’t want to, that’s no problem.”

Octavia rubs my back while I try to quiet my sobs. It takes a few minutes, but I finally reach over to get napkins out of the glove compartment and blow my nose.

“My mom is rich,” I begin without preamble. “She paid for me to go to college, studying string performance.”

“That’s right, you play violin,” Octavia remembers.

I shake my head. “Viola, actually. It was my first instrument. But I didn’t want to go to college. I just want to play. I’ve always just wanted to play. My mom thought we were compromising by having me study music, because I love it, but I hated school. I dropped out last year without telling her and we haven’t spoken since the big fight about it.” My breath shudders. “Finn’s band hired me for their tour, but obviously you know the end of that story.” I glance at Raven hesitantly, but her eyes are filled only with sympathy. I don’t deserve these friends. “Obviously, Mom’s funding dried up in the spring, so I’ve been siphoning out of my savings since I came back here in November. I got all my stuff – ” I gesture to the backseat – “from her house when she was at work and I’ve been here ever since.”

Raven leans over the center console and hugs me tightly, Octavia joining her a split-second after. I cling to the girls for a long time, tears still leaking out from my eyes.

“This record deal is really important to you, huh,” Octavia guesses, finally pulling back.

I sigh. “Yes. Not just for the money. I’m so happy to finally get to do what I’ve always dreamed of.”

“We are gonna do everything it takes to get you out of this car,” Raven vows.

“Come upstairs with us, you’re spending the night,” Octavia declares.

For some reason, I shake my head no. “I’ve imposed on you guys way too much,” I decline. They start to protest, but I cut them off. “I’ll go stay with Wells. He doesn’t fly back to Phoenix for a couple of days.”

“Okay,” Octavia acquiesces, “we’ll stay here until you call him.”

“You guys,” I roll my eyes, but I pull my phone out to speed dial him. The girls whisper a few times while I talk to Wells, but I ignore them. It feels kind of good to get my homeless secret off my chest.

“Done,” I announce. “You guys go back upstairs. I’ll see you at rehearsal tomorrow?”

“Definitely,” Raven promises. She opens the passenger door reluctantly.

“Stay warm, Clarke,” Octavia urges.

Raven adds, “We love you,” before they slide out of the car. I wait until they close the door to the apartment upstairs, then pull out of the parking lot.

Across town, Wells is waiting in his open front doorway for me. I jog into the warm foyer gratefully.

“Long time no see, Clarke,” Mr. Jaha jokes when we walk through the kitchen.

“Thanks for having me over,” I smile.

“Just like old times,” Wells reminisces. “We’ll get the popcorn flowing, music playing, maybe throw in a blanket fort.”

“You know just how to get to a girl’s heart,” I reply, feeling lighter already.

Three Disney movies later, I fall asleep curled into Wells’s side, indescribably thankful for my old friend as well as my new ones.


	7. Two of a Kind, Workin' On a Full House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy has trouble reining in his feelings.

Octavia is quiet for the rest of the evening, but it doesn’t bother me until the next day, when she’s still taciturn by the time she heads off to school.

“What’s up with her?” I ask Raven casually, putting my breakfast things in the kitchen sink.

Raven shrugs, which looks awkward while she’s putting her hair in its ponytail for work.

“She’s still mad at me, isn’t she.” I try not to roll my eyes.

“No, she’s not. It’s something else.”

“Well, what is it?”

“It’s not ours to tell.” Raven still hasn’t turned around from the mirror to face me. This feels off. What could have happened last night after O stormed out the door, furious at me? She and Raven were only gone for fifteen minutes before they came back to the apartment. They said they were going to rehearsal, but of course I know that was bullshit since I know their rehearsal schedule. And when they came back, Clarke wasn’t with them.

“Does this have something to do with Clarke?” I press. Raven is silent, reaching down now to grab her work bag. There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach. I throw my suspicion out into the open. “Is Clarke in trouble?”

Raven isn’t a bad liar, but she doesn’t like to lie, which is almost the same thing. “…Maybe,” she finally says. “I don’t know.”

“What’s the problem?” My mind is trying to run away with me, but I won’t let myself land on any conclusions before I get the real answer. That’s how miscommunications happen, and the next thing you know, I’ll be dashing through the airport trying to catch Clarke before she boards a plane.

No, wait, that’s a romantic comedy. This is real life.

“I have to get to work,” Raven dodges, moving to pass me and leave the apartment.

I turn my body and plant my feet, blocking the entire skinny hallway. “It’ll only take five minutes if I drive you,” I contend. Raven grimaces at me stubbornly. “It’s January, why do you want to _walk_ to the garage?”

The prospect of my warm car wins out. “Fine,” Raven gives in, dropping her bag. “And only for the low price of selling out my best friend!”

“Hey, I know you’re worried about her,” I prod. “And I know Octavia is too. I’m getting worried myself and I don’t even know what’s wrong.”

We sink onto the couch side by side. Raven props her elbow on the back of the seat, facing me. “Clarke’s living in her car,” she confesses.

“She’s _what_?”

“You heard me.”

“In the dead of winter?” Raven nods soberly. “Hey, don’t feel bad about telling me this. That is… shitty.”

“Clarke _clearly_ doesn’t want anyone to know,” she points out. “She’s really upset.”

“Well, she’s gonna get over it, because she needs a roof over her head and we have one,” I say hotly. Raven snaps a look at me.

“She wouldn’t even hear of staying the night last night,” she counters. “She went to Wells’s to avoid ‘putting us out’.”

“Just let me talk to her,” I maintain.

“Don’t…” Raven thinks better of whatever she was going to say.

“What,” I ask flatly, glaring.

“Don’t be… all _you_ about it.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know,” Raven huffs. “You’re such a mother hen. Don’t act like you know what’s best for her, if you talk with her about it.” She cuts me off before I can retort, “I know, this would be great for her, you’re right about this one, but don’t _act_ all superior about it.”

“Superior? I think you’ll find,” I rejoinder, “that I am a downright piece of shit.”

“That’s the spirit.” Raven stands up again. “I have some repairs to make. Let’s go.”

-

I show Kane my bandaged hand when I get to work, and Clarke did a good enough job that he’s convinced I went to the hospital. I get back on the job, staying far away from Atom and his new saw.

On my lunch break, I twirl my phone in my hand a couple dozen times before hitting “dial” on Clarke’s contact. I got her number when she joined the band, for emergency purposes, but I’ve never had to reach out to her before.

She picks up on the third ring. “Hello?” The tone of her voice on that one word makes me think she knows who it is but has no idea why I would be calling.

“Hey, Clarke, it’s Bellamy,” I say anyway, just in case she doesn’t know it’s me.

“What’s up?”

“I… was wondering if… are you free right now?” I decide suddenly.

“Uh… one sec.” Muffled voices on her end exchange a quick back-and-forth, then she’s back with me. “Sure, I’ve got no plans until rehearsal tonight.”

“Could we meet up at the apartment?”

“I can be there in ten minutes,” Clarke offers.

“Give me fifteen, just to be safe,” I modify, already getting up and walking over to Kane. “See you soon.”

“Bye.”

Feeling guilty that I just convinced the foreman of my perfect health, I lie again and tell Kane that my hand is giving me trouble.

“Take it easy, Bellamy,” he orders, dismissing me for the day.

-

Clarke is waiting at the top of the steps when I get there.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I apologize, shoving the key into the lock.

“No worries,” Clarke smiles. “I haven’t been here long.”

Her cheeks are flushed becomingly from the cold, and I trip over my feet when I get the door open. This crush is going to be the death of me.

And now I’ve acknowledged this as a crush.

“So you sounded pretty serious on the phone.” Clarke sheds her coat and shoes and perches on the arm of the couch, sort of sidesaddle. “What’s the deal?”

I think about joking _I just wanted to see your pretty face again_ , but that’s just my nerves trying to take control. “I don’t want it to be all serious,” I promise, grabbing a chair from the dining table and swiveling it so I can sit backwards. “I have an offer to make you.”

“I’m intrigued,” Clarke admits, squaring her shoulders.

“…And an admission to make first.” Clarke’s brow furrows. “It has… come to my attention that… you’re in a situation… okay, screw it, I know you’re living in your car.”

“Octavia,” Clarke mutters darkly.

“Raven, actually,” I defend my sister. “First of all, I hope you know no one’s judging you or anything. You’re doing what you need to do.” Clarke won’t meet my eyes. “Look, will you tell me if I’m being a dick here? Because I’m not that great at self-examination.”

Clarke lets out a little laugh, still looking down. “No, you’re being very nice. Thanks for being upfront with me about finding out.” She sighs and finally raises her head, a challenge in her gaze. “Now what was this I heard about an offer?”

“Hear me out,” I caution. “Don’t just say no because of social contract or whatever.”

Clarke scoffs. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

“I’m gonna say it anyway,” I banter. “You should move in with us.”

“Okay, first things first,” Clarke launches in. This is clearly an argument she’s been preparing. “You guys already have three people crammed in a two-bedroom. I can’t pay rent, or at least not much, and I don’t want my friends pitying me.”

“We want to do this _because_ we’re your friends, Clarke,” I answer. “I make enough money to pay for this place, Raven adds to that by working at the garage, and your band stuff is going to make a killing. As for the space, we’re hardly ever all here at the same time, so that’s not a problem. And trust me, pity is not a factor here. Raven and O have been scheming ways to get you moved in here since they met you.”

“Fuck off,” Clarke says mildly.

“Honestly, you’d be taking pity on _them_. All in all, I think it would be very considerate of you to live with us.”

“And you?” she presses. “You can’t be all that eager to have one more mouth to feed and argue with.”

I get serious, wanting her to know how sincere this offer is. “I would be very happy if you stayed here with us.”

Clarke, too, lets the serious tone take hold. “Living like this makes me feel so weak,” she confesses.

I lean in. “Then. Move. In.”

Wearily, she smiles. “Thank you, Bellamy.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I’ll have to leave most of my stuff in my car.”

“We have closet space.” I let myself smile back at her.

“I’m still trying to find a job. I have a little money still saved up, but that won’t last forever, and I _will_ pay rent.”

“I told you, don’t worry about it. Octavia doesn’t pull her weight at all either,” I joke. A recent memory strikes me. “Hey, since I’m being so honest about discovering secrets about you – ”

“Oh, _god_.”

“That little money you have saved up wouldn’t happen to be from your time as a bluegrass sensation, would it?”

Clarke’s mouth drops open. “What. The. Fuck.” She leaps off of the couch’s arm and punches me in the arm with force. “Who _told_ you?”

“The internet!” I protest, rubbing my arm. “Goddamn. You’re on YouTube, you know.”

“That’s so embarrassing,” she moans, pacing with her head in her hands.

“Are you kidding? You have such a beautiful voice you could be a fucking siren.”

“You and mythology, man,” Clarke brushes off the compliment. “Thanks, though.”

-

I switch rooms with the girls. What used to be just Octavia’s room is smaller, so there was no way we were fitting another bed in there. What ends up happening is we move Raven’s twin bed into the bigger room, where I leave the queen bed I slept in so that Octavia and Clarke can share it. That way we don’t have to buy another bed, and Raven still gets to sleep-kick in her own separate blankets.

I’m not that fussed about giving up my bigger bed. Living with my little sister for the last six years, it’s not like I’m bringing in girls to share it with. I _am_ a little freaked that Clarke is now laying her head where I used to. One day when I’m off work and Raven and O are gone during the day, I catch a glimpse of Clarke laying across the wide bed writing something and I have to defensively occupy my thoughts by cooking. Imagining myself joining her on that bed is not going to lead to anything good.

That night, Clarke goes out with Wells to celebrate his last night in the city. It’s a Friday, so I assume she’ll be back late and none of us bother to wait up for her. I still keep the ringer on my phone turned on just in case.

I wake up, seemingly for no reason, at 3:30 in the morning. It takes me a second to discern Wells’s voice wishing Clarke a good night at the door, but then, satisfied, I slip back into an almost-sleep.

Dimly, I realize my door swings open, but I’m not aware enough to react to anything, even when a warm body slides onto the bed, half-squishing me. I can smell the alcohol on Clarke’s breath. She wiggles around uncomfortably for two seconds, then lets out an exaggerated gasp and tumbles bodily onto the floor.

“Shit,” she whispers loudly. I stir slowly. “Sorry, Bellamy! I forgot we switched rooms! Sorry sorry sorrysorrysorry…” She giggles drunkenly and stumbles out the door again before I can sit up.

In my waking hours, I try valiantly to stamp out any romantic overtone to my interactions with Clarke, but for now I’m too tired to stop the thought: _that is the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen_.


	8. We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I know literally nothing about how recording contracts/processes work. THE MUSIC IS JUST A VEHICLE TO EVENTUAL BELLARKE.

The recording studio takes some getting used to. It’s been a while since I’ve been in the padded booth, but for the other girls, it’s even newer. Harper spends a full five minutes poking the foam spikes on the acoustic padding.

After a week of working, with Jaha on the outside recording and mixing, we’re in the swing of things. We’ve completed usable raw recordings of six songs. Jaha seems pleased.

“We’re pretty good,” I reply smugly through the microphone when he compliments our ability to churn out quality takes.

We hit up Miller’s bar when we finish up. He’s talking to a cute Asian guy across the bar, as well as his gangly friend. They seem familiar to me, but I don’t fully recognize them. The girls do, however.

“Jasper Jordan!” Raven greets exuberantly, throwing her arms around him.

“Hi, Monty,” Harper smiles warmly, everybody milling around to get their hugs. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We’re on vacation,” Monty hedges.

“Yeah, one enforced by the university due to our somewhat below-the-table dealings,” Jasper confesses.

“You’re suspended,” Octavia summarizes. “God, I can’t believe you guys are still making that swill you call liquor.”

“We never said it tasted like ambrosia,” Monty defends. “It just gets the job done.”

Miller notices me standing outside the circle and takes pity on me. “Guys, this is Clarke Griffin. Clarke, Jasper Jordan and Monty Green.”

“Fellow survivors of the good old alma mater?” I guess.

“Hey, I remember you!” Jasper calls. “Yeah, we had gym class together. I was a year below you, though.”

“That explains why I have to be introduced to you again,” I reply. “I blocked out all memory of that embarrassment of a class.”

“Hey, you’re serving them alcohol!” Raven accuses Miller suddenly. He puts a finger to his lips.

“I serve you too,” he reminds her.

“You never let _us_ drink,” Monroe grumbles, crossing her arms petulantly.

“Please, Miller?” Octavia begs, folding her hands beseechingly.

“Your brother would kill me,” Miller says intractably.

“Does it look like he’s here?” Octavia persists, gesturing dramatically to the fairly populated bar.

“Come on, Miller,” Monty goads. “They’ll just be loitering otherwise.”

Miller shoots him a look. “Fine.”

Octavia, Monroe, and Harper cheer as he walks off to pour a round of beers.

“What’s your pet project this semester?” Raven asks Jasper, pulling up a stool.

Jasper launches into a speech using a lot of scientific words I don’t try to understand. The gist of it is that he’s studying chemistry and plans on saving the world with it.

“He was Raven’s lab partner back in high school,” Octavia informs me.

“And Monty?”

“He and Jasper are a package deal.”

Since moving back home, I’ve met a lot of people in the same social group who earnestly care about each other. I wonder how much I missed out on back in high school. It was always just me, Wells, and Glass for three years, and then Luke.

If I’d known these people too, I would’ve been a lot happier.

But the high school reunion isn’t over yet.

I take a seat with Octavia, Harper, and Monroe at a nearby table, the bar being full. My chair faces the door, and just as I’m about to take a swig of my Irish coffee, I get a full view of Finn Collins walking in.

“I have to pee,” I announce loudly, shooting up from my seat and hooking Raven’s arm.

“Hey!” she cuts off mid-conversation, but I drag her along obstinately.

When we’re safely shut away in the bathroom, I plant my back against the door.

“Finn’s here,” I tell her directly.

“Why the hell is he here?” Raven roars. “He’s supposed to be on tour for another seven months!”

“Hell if I know!” I shout. “I don’t think he saw us, but just to be safe, I’m out of here. Are you staying?”

“Absolutely not,” Raven declares. “I don’t need to see that face ever again.”

I step tentatively forward. “Hey.” Her shoulders are hunching, but she’s determinedly keeping her poker face. “I’m with you. Finn is the walking embodiment of a dick move. I’m still furious that shit had to go down that way, but I’m so glad that I got you out of the mess.”

“You’re pretty worth it too,” Raven agrees. “Now let’s go avoid a two-timing douchebag.”

“Hang on, I’m gonna tell the girls.” I shoot off a quick text:  _ Finn walked in. Rae and me walking out. _

Miller’s staff entrance is technically off-limits to us, but he can make a damn exception. Raven and I hurry through the bar again, duck off to the side, and burst into the alley.

“Oh, hell,” Raven says when we spot a familiar car parked, light snow melting on its still-warm hood. “What is Bellamy doing here?”

“He’s gonna kill Miller,” I mutter, thinking of all the underage drinkers in there.

“He’s gonna kill  _ Finn _ !” Raven corrects. “When all the shit went down last fall, he was ready to give Finn a down-home beatdown.”

“Do we really want to protect Finn from Bellamy?” I ask skeptically. I’m not really feeling like saving someone who’s such a tool.

“Uh, we need to stop Bellamy from doing  _ my _ job,” Raven corrects. “If anyone deserves to kick some ass, it’s me. Well, us.”

I sigh but pull open the staff door again, gesturing inside. “After you.”

Raven and I link arms as we enter through the back, walking in sync. It feels powerfully satisfying.

Finn is sitting in a booth along the back wall, nursing his drink. The girls are right where we left them, none of them looking at their phones (the text must not have sent, Miller’s place has piss-poor reception). And Bellamy is striding across the room from the front door, apparently to do what we feared he would. Raven and I hurry to head him off.

Which turns out to be a mistake, because we all meet right in front of Finn’s booth.

“Clarke,” Finn says in surprise. “Raven.”

Bellamy’s face is murderous. “Get out of here,” Raven orders.

“Me or him?” Finn asks.

“Either is fine,” Raven snaps at him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here, Collins?” Bellamy barks, turning heads from nearby tables. From the side of my eye, I see Octavia jump and Harper and Monroe start to shotgun their drinks with her, disposing of the evidence.

“I’m here for you, Clarke,” Finn answers. My head rings with angry clarity, snapping my attention back to him.

“What do you mean?” I growl.

“Without a drummer, our tour is over,” he says imploringly. “I need you back.”

Raven and I scoff in unison. “Way too late,” I say scornfully. “I’m with Raven now.” We wave our still-joined arms. “In everything. I’m her drummer, I’m her roommate, and I’m her best friend. I trust her, which is more than I can say for you. In fact, you might not even be telling the truth about your tour. You’ve lied about bigger things than this. Don’t ask me again, and don’t talk to either one of us. This is so incredibly over for all parties involved.”

“Is there a problem here?” Miller approaches our sour little group, his arms folded so his muscles bulge.

“Not anymore,” Raven dismisses. I take hold of Bellamy’s arm with my free hand to get him to move. Together we all turn around and walk the hell away from Finn Collins.

Harper, Monroe, and Octavia’s table is cleared of glasses. Hopefully Bellamy will stay oblivious. I jerk my head at the girls, beckoning them to leave with us. We take the back door again.

“Meet you at home,” I call to Octavia, tossing her my keys. She gives me a funny look but takes them, heading off with Monroe and Harper. Raven and I put a stewing Bellamy in the driver’s seat, knowing he won’t let either of us drive his car.

“Damn, Clarke, that was intense,” Raven praises, turning around in the passenger seat to face me.

“He’d just better find somewhere else to skulk around town,” Bellamy growls, gripping the steering wheel hard.

“Chill, Bellamy,” Raven rolls her eyes. “We can fight our own battles, you know.”

“He messed with my friends, so he messed with me!” he yells.

“You’re such a hothead!”

“Oh, coming from you?”

“Guys!” I bellow. “You both need to chill the fuck out before you crash this car. It’s. Done.”

Bellamy’s eyes flick to mine in the rearview mirror. They’re still heated, the deep brown practically scorching, but then the fight seems to go out of them. Quickly, he flicks back to watching the road.

“I know you can do your own fighting,” he murmurs grudgingly. “I just want to get in on the action every now and again.”

“A knight in shining armor,” Raven deadpans, in a better humor.

“That better not make us princesses,” I warn.

“Just for saying that,” Bellamy returns, “you’re  _ absolutely _ my princess.”

“I’m sure we can find a handkerchief to wave at the next joust,” Raven snorts.

-

By the time we get home, a song is floating around in my brain. I get my keys from Octavia and jet off to my storage locker.

When I moved in, I rented a small unit in the cheapest part of town so that I could clean my car totally out. Whatever didn’t fit in the apartment went in here. Including all my instruments.

The cold isn’t ideal for their well-being, but their cases should be enough protection until something better comes along. They’re stacked on top of each other (thank you, boxy cases) and leaning on one another, but I’ve Jenga-ed them into stability. I pull my guitar out of the pile.

It takes a little while, but the chords flow steadily from the strings when I decide on the progression. I only make it through a few lyrics, though:

“The princess will drop you on your ass before you blink,

She’s combat boots and leather pants and nails polished pink…”


	9. Limelight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, it's honestly embarrassing how much I'm pulling out of my ass when it comes to the music industry. I'm so sorry.

“WE’RE DONE!” Octavia screams when the girls open the front door. She runs over and leaps into my arms, smiling wide. It makes me grin from ear to ear too.

The band has been working hard for a month, perfecting their first album in the recording studio. They’re already slated to film a music video this weekend. Obviously there’s still a long stretch of months to wait before any of this media goes out to the public, but meanwhile, I’ve got the public eye handled. The YouTube ad revenue has started coming in, which I give to the girls to divide amongst themselves. It’s a downright pittance, but at least it’s something. The money isn’t what matters anyway. A lot more people are viewing their videos and subscribing, a built-in audience for when the album comes out.

I’ve never seen O so happy in her life.

“I’m going to work,” Clarke announces, not even taking off her coat. She swipes her work apron from the kitchen counter. Miller hired her to paint a mural on the back wall of his bar when we all found out what a great artist she is. Honestly, there might be nothing in this world the girl’s _not_ amazing at. Since the wall is so high, Clarke’s only about halfway done. “I’ll see if I can get Miller to part with a bottle of whiskey tonight to celebrate.”

“Bring home a mixer as well, I’m begging you,” O requests, sparing a glance up at me. I’m grudgingly okay with my sister drinking in the safety of home. Clarke salutes and walks right back out the door.

“So the shoot is on Sunday,” Raven sinks into a chair, “and then we have to go back to Cataclysm on Monday sans instruments? Just paperwork stuff, right?”

Octavia nods. “Bellamy,” she switches to me, whirling around, “you’ll be there, right? The video shoot, I mean,” she clarifies. Her eyes are big and unintentionally nervous.

“You want me to be there?” My heart swells. O and I have always been close, but when it comes to band stuff, I’ve been trying to stay out of the way. When Clarke came into the picture, her guiding temperament took the band with her into the limelight, and while I’m glad for all their successes and the successes in their future, I miss fretting over all the minutiae.

Octavia nods, her face relaxing.

-

So I drive Harper and Monroe to the site of the shoot, parking next to Clarke’s car. Inside what looks like a big warehouse is a round stage, raised six feet or so above the ground. Octavia, Raven, and Clarke are setting up their instruments on top.

“Bellamy, give me a hand with this,” Clarke requests.

I climb up a small ladder set off to the side and get her all set up. Then, since I’m up there, I prop open Monroe’s keyboard stand while her hands are busy with the instrument.

There are people milling all around down below. When I climb down, a blonde guy walks over to me, hand outstretched to shake.

“You must be the brother,” he greets. O must have told them I was bringing Harper and Monroe when she got here early.

“Bellamy Blake,” I introduce myself, shaking his hand.

“Kyle Wick. Lighting design.” He paces a few steps back and cranes his head up to look at the lighting rig. “It’s pretty minimalist, since their hair is so many colors.”

I laugh. “It’s part of their ‘image’, they tell me.”

“So what do you do, man?” Wick beckons me to walk with him.

“I’m just in construction, nothing special.” We’re heading toward the craft service table, set up with bowls of salad and plates of sandwiches and brownies. “Octavia’s the talent of the family.”

“Nah, man, if you can build houses and shit, I’d say you got her beat. You’d kick her ass on _Survivor_.”

I grab a bottle of water and mostly try to stay out of the way for the next ten minutes. I meet the director of the shoot, a sharp-eyed lady who just goes by Byrne.

The set goes quiet when Byrne walks up to the girls on the platform and pep-talks them into their first run of the song. The camera operators swivel around the round stage, getting as many angles as possible.

During the third run of “Elegance Riot”, Wick pulls me up a chair by his lighting desk.

“All the cues are programmed in,” he whispers. “I just need to monitor it.”

The lighting _is_ pretty simple to my untrained eye, but all the cues lined up on the screen tell me that it’s a sophisticated setup. The girls touched up their hair two nights ago in preparation for the camera, and the lights make them all look vibrant and defined. It’s hard to explain.

They’re dressed in grey and black, and the stylists included accents of whatever color their hair features. O’s red lipstick is visible even from far away. The effect isn’t quite punk, but I think it’s inspired by it.

The lunch break is quick, but the girls are so keyed up that their laughter catches to the crew. Even Byrne cracks a smile. At one point, Raven gestures wildly with her spoon and her yogurt goes flying into Wick’s face.

“Oh, shit, sorry!” she cries, aghast, over Harper and Octavia’s cackles.

Wick levels a glare at her, but it’s obviously playful. “I may not be allowed to get your pretty face dirty today,” he growls, “but you watch your back. I’ll get you for this.”

Raven, true to form, rolls her eyes, knowing she hasn’t caused any damage.

They go back to filming, this time close-up shots of the girls’ faces while they play. Raven looks focused and intense, Octavia steady as her beat. Harper has a distinctive way of flipping her hair that I know will make it into the final cut. Monroe bobs her head and sways her shoulders while she plays. And Clarke smirks the whole time, making her enigmatic and eye-catching.

“So how old’s your sister?” Wick asks quietly.

“Seventeen, eighteen in a few months.”

“Are they all that young?”

“Harper and Monroe are her age. Clarke’s older.”

“And Raven?”

I have to tamp down a smile. “Raven’s nineteen. I’m twenty-four, for that matter, and you are…?”

“I’m twenty-three,” Wick grins, turning his head back to the stage.

He’s probably thinking the same thing I am: four years isn’t that bad.

The shoot wraps in another hour, and the girls are invited to watch some of the raw footage. Everyone crowds around a monitor, craning over each other’s heads.

“That’s so weird,” Raven wrinkles her nose. “I don’t like looking at myself from the back.”

“They made us look so good, shut up.” Octavia smacks her in the side.

“We made a music video,” Monroe breathes.

“It’s no Bellamy Blake smartphone original,” Clarke murmurs to me.

“Oh, yeah,” I retort. “This professional quality will never measure up to grainy, jerky handheld action.”

“It has charm,” Clarke defends. “It’s more authentic.”

“Hipster.”

-

On Wednesday, Clarke finishes painting the mural at Miller’s.

“You guys should come down,” she says on Raven’s speakerphone. “I want you to be the first to see it.”

The place has been closed while Clarke works on it during the day; at night the in-progress painting was covered up with a huge stage-style curtain so that the bar could still open. It’s still early, so no one is waiting to get in when we show up. Miller opens the door for us.

Clarke is bouncing on her paint-covered toes. The curtain is closed over the wall.

“Okay, Miller, give me a hand,” she grins. They each grip one side of the split down the middle of the curtain. “One, two, three!”

The unveiled mural is not what I expected. I didn’t know what Miller had paid her to do, but it’s even better than my theories.

It’s like a Bob Ross nature painting, but twisted into a style that is totally Clarke. It doesn’t look exactly peaceful, either. It fits into a bar setting. Trees and a cliff in the distance and some body of dark water. It’s almost photorealistic, but her color scheme is just a little bit fantastic. The birds up at the top are striking.

“Ravens,” Clarke points on her tiptoes. Raven’s eyes snap to hers. Clarke half-runs toward the bar. “And some blue butterflies for Octavia.” There they are, perched on a branch.

“This is so bitchin’!” Octavia yells. “Holy shit, Clarke!” She runs over and barrels into Clarke, Raven following close behind. The three of them sway on the spot for the longest time. I can’t stop myself from smiling.

Miller is looking at me with an unreadable expression. “Pour the lady a beer, dude,” I order. “She’s worked hard on this.”

“I know. I was here,” he reminds me, but goes behind the bar anyway.

Clarke detaches herself from the other two and they start walking down the wall, inspecting every detail. Clarke makes her way to me.

“On that shore,” she points, directing my gaze. I peer at the far side of the lake she depicted, and sitting pretty on the hill is a log cabin.

“For me?” I blurt in surprise. She nods.

“I couldn’t very well put in a minotaur or a hydra,” she explains.

Without another thought, I pull her into a close hug. Her hands reach up my back to grip my shoulders. “Thank you,” I murmur.

“It’s what friends do,” she responds. “I have something else for you.” Clarke pulls back and reaches into her back pocket. She unfolds a thin piece of paper. A check. From Miller. “I had him split my payment,” she informs me, jerking her head over to the bar.

I take the check, confused. The memo reads “rent payment” and the amount is –

“Fifteen hundred dollars?!” I hiss. “You cannot give me this.”

“I told you, I’m paying rent,” she insists. “Consider this arrears. And security deposit. And also this month’s payment.”

“Clarke, that is way too much!” I persist.

“Put it toward a gift for Octavia!” she continues stubbornly. “Look, I painted a 21-by-17-foot mural for what amounts to dirt cheap. I have the other half of the money, and I want you to have this. You’ve put yourself on the line for me, Bellamy. Let me pay you back.”

We stare each other down for ten long seconds. But I can tell when I’m outmatched. Besides, being scrutinized by her electric eyes is enough to get my heart going.

Without saying anything, I fold the check back up and slide it into my own back pocket. Clarke’s face lights up, knowing she’s won.

“This is the only time, you hear me?” I assert myself. I even brandish a stern finger in her skeptical face. “I want you to keep your money.”

“Sorry, I don’t speak Machismo,” Clarke teases, hurrying out of my reach to the bar so I can’t get the last word.

“This isn’t the only time,” I admit to myself tiredly. I’ll always take anything she wants to give me.


	10. The Little Old Log Cabin in the Lane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Clarke is TOO good at everything in this fic. But tbh that's how God intended our best girl to be portrayed. It's basically a canon trait anyway, which is exactly why I love the show.

With our album finished, life kind of slows down. Raven picks up extra hours at the garage, the high schoolers work a little harder for their grades. I end up spending a lot of time working on my song. When that’s finished, more ideas drop into my brain, and I work on those.

“What do you do during the day?” Raven asks one Thursday when we meet up for lunch. “You’re not booking more murals, are you?”

“That’d be cool, but no,” I confess. “I’m… actually writing some new songs.”

Raven puts down her oyster pail. “Anything good?”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

“Does that mean you’re gonna show me so I can decide?”

I grimace at her. “I’ve only finished one.”

“So?” She takes a swig of my Coke. “Bring them to rehearsal and we can help you finish them.”

So that night Monroe’s garage sees my cheap acoustic guitar for the first time.

“This feels wrong,” I complain, settling on my drum stool.

“What’s your song called?” Harper asks.

“Uh, ‘Princess’. Okay, here we go.” I play the song for them. I have a tendency to look at my hands while I play, so I don’t know what they think of it until the end, when I finally look up. Their faces are lit up, so I know it’s okay to smile.

“Clarke!” Octavia says accusingly. “You never told us you could sing!”

“That was beautiful,” Monroe agrees.

“Bellamy never told you?” I’m glad, but also surprised he wouldn’t tell his sister.

“ _Bellamy_ knows and we didn’t?” Raven gapes.

“There’s some stuff on YouTube,” I explain vaguely, wanting to get off the topic. “Anyway, did you like it?”

“Duh,” Harper rolls her eyes. “A song about a woman being capable and independent and taking down gross dudes? It’s pretty much everything I stand for.”

“And that is why we need to make it our next project,” Octavia decides.

“We’ve never done songs with words before,” Monroe reminds everyone. “Of course, that was before we had Clarke.”

“All in favor of Clarke singing forever and always?” Harper calls. Everyone’s hands go in the air.

“Wait, can you sing and play drums at the same time?” Monroe asks.

I shrug. “I can try.” I drag the stool back over to my kit and drum the rhythm from “The Schuyler Sisters” from Hamilton (“you _would_ be a nerd,” Raven scoffs) and sing a few bars. “Done.”

“Okay. How do we turn your song into a rock legend?” Octavia muses.

“Together?” Harper offers.

Everyone groans and throws the nearest object at her. “Corny!”

-

Not only do we work out five parts for “Princess”, we manage to finish two more songs I’d started that Octavia’s calling “We’re Back, Bitches!” and “Get Back Up”. It’s a lot easier to come up with titles when there are lyrics to take them from. Not that we don’t still love our instrumental songs. Our first album is still gonna be a hit.

Ideas for lyrics are churning through my head almost all the time now. The next day I drive to my storage locker almost as soon as I wake up, another melody bouncing around my brain. The pages of what used to be my sketchbook are getting more and more filled up with words.

I feel happier than I’ve been in a long time.

Two hours later, I close up shop and get back in the car. When I get close to the highway, I stop. Across the street is Bellamy’s neighborhood.

I shake my head. When did I start calling it that?

I drive forward between the log cabins. It’s easy to find my way, because the newer homes are super obvious. The hard packed dirt around them hasn’t sprouted grass yet, though that’s probably because of the cold as well. Early March still isn’t spring here.

The crew is milling around a house up ahead on my left. I pull to a stop across the street. Everyone’s too busy to notice my car.

I spot Bellamy at the front, using a power saw to carve out the opening for the door. I recognize him from the back by his sweaty curls, peeking out from his hard hat. The muscles in his back stand out as he holds the dangerous saw steady.

Someone gets Bellamy’s attention and he turns to look at me. A couple of the other guys are looking too, I realize. My face gets hot.

Tentatively, Bellamy turns the saw off and waves at me. I give a small wave back. Then he starts walking over. Oh no, he’s gonna want a reason for why I’m here. Dinner, I decide, rolling down the window.

“Is that your girlfriend?” I hear as soon as I get the window down. Bellamy flips whoever it was off over his shoulder.

“What’re you doing here, Clarke?” he asks when he gets to my car. His eyebrows are knit in puzzlement.

“Hey,” I greet. I hope this excuse sounds normal enough. “I was in the neighborhood and figured I’d swing by… I’m planning on making dinner tonight, what should I cook?”

“You didn’t wanna text?” He braces his (bare, muscled) arms on the window frame.

“Like I said,” I repeat, “I was around.”

He laughs. “Make whatever you want, Clarke, I’ll eat anything.”

“Okay,” I concede, having nothing else to argue. For a few seconds, we just look at each other, then – “You should probably get back. I didn’t mean to derail the work.”

Bellamy looks back over his shoulder, as if he’s forgotten where we are entirely. “Oh, yeah,” he agrees. “I’ll see you at home. Thanks for coming by.”

“Bye,” I reply. Bellamy does something weird – he leans into the car a little, but only for a second. Then he lets go of my door like it’s burned him and nearly trips over his own feet walking backwards. We both laugh, a little stilted, and wave again. I roll up the window and pull forward to turn around and go home.

When I drive back the other way, Bellamy is pulling the cord on the saw. His arms are fast and strong, the saw growling to life on the first try. In a random flash, I remember how he hugged me when he saw the mural, those strong arms firm but gentle.

“Why is your face all red?” Raven laughs when I meet her at the garage for lunch.

“It’s cold?” I suggest. She shrugs and grabs a rag to wipe her face. “Let’s go eat.”

“Make sure you don’t get frostbite on the way to the car,” she quips. I punch her in the arm.


	11. One of the Guys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kinda filler, sorry about that. Hope you still enjoy!

I pull into Monroe’s driveway Friday night bearing cookies, envelopes, and news. The garage door is shut, the weather still cold, so I ring the doorbell for Monroe’s parents to let me in. It’s been a while since I crashed a rehearsal. Octavia only let me stay because I was the carpool. Now that Clarke drives them, I stay home.

As I approach the garage, I hear laughter and dissonant chords on a variety of instruments. “Okay, okay,” Harper’s voice titters. “From the top.”

The girls launch into a cohesive, catchy song when I open the door. None of them look up, focused. And then Clarke opens up her mouth.

“Did you think that I would want you?

With your messy life and your attitude?

Don’t be bitter, don’t you spew

‘Princess’ like it’s something rude!”

Obviously, I’ve heard Clarke sing before in a video. Actually, more than one video. “Dusty River” was not the only song Bluegrass Clarke performed in her career, and plenty of fans in the audience posted their flip phone recordings. I’d be embarrassed of how many times I’ve watched the videos if she wasn’t so damn talented. Anyone else would do this too, I swear.

Hearing her sing in person is a whole ‘nother matter.

“The princess will drop you on your ass before you blink,

She’s combat boots and leather pants and nails polished pink,

I’ll scratch my name into your skin if you try me again,

I ruin lives with a curtsy and a wink.”

They play the rest of the song, finishing with a blistering chord by Raven.

“What was that?” I blurt. Monroe jumps, Octavia shrieks.

“Oh, Bell!” she accuses angrily.

“What do you mean ‘what was that?’” Raven asks. “That was a song.”

“Clarke wrote it,” Harper offers helpfully. Clarke grins sheepishly.

“Oh,” I say lamely. “Well, I brought sustenance - ” I hold out the covered plate of cookies, which O immediately lunges for, “and some mail that I think you should open together.” I hand the envelopes out, including Harper’s, which I swiped from her mailbox on the way over - probably a felony, but who cares - and Monroe’s, which I asked her mother if I could take from the kitchen table and deliver to her.

Raven is the first to open it. “Holy shit,” she intones. Harper gasps when she sees hers.

“It’s a check,” she says dumbly.

“It’s our advance,” Clarke clarifies.

“And it’s  _ huge _ !” Monroe finishes.

They all erupt into high-pitched screaming, jumping up and down and hugging each other. I graze on a cookie. When I’ve finished it and they still aren’t done, I decide to interrupt.

“You’ve got a show, too!” I yell.

“What?” Monroe cries in disbelief.

“One of the guys wants to hire you to play his girlfriend’s birthday,” I explain. “Murphy’s a dick, but Emori’s really sweet. You’d like her.”

“I’m sold,” Octavia declares. “Anyone who’s around John Murphy that much probably needs some joy in her life.”

“Party’s next weekend,” I tell them. “Should I call and tell him you’ll do it?”

“Definitely,” Raven says. “I need to see this girlfriend for myself.”

They start chattering again, but Clarke walks over to me.

“Your song was, uh, really good,” I babble. “Sorry, I should’ve said that before.”

“You liked it?” Clarke confirms.

“It was like The Runaways and Kesha had a baby,” I describe.

Clarke laughs. “That is a huge compliment. Although Joan Jett would probably be appalled.”

I get their permission to sit in on the rest of rehearsal, having nothing better to do with my evening. They’re being so loud about it, I barely feel my phone vibrating in my pocket through the vibrations being sent through the stool I’m sitting on.

_ Blake, it’s Wick. I got your number from Byrne’s contact list. Hope that’s cool _

Puzzled, I reply:  _ Hey, man. What can I do for you? _

_ You free tonight? I’m new in town and don’t know where to go for a good drink. _

_ I know just the place. _

-

Miller calls a greeting to me when I walk through the door. I scan the room until Wick waves at me from the bar.

“I see you’ve met Miller,” I say, taking the stool next to him.

“The bartender? He barely said a word to me,” he replies, bemused.

“Yep, that’s Miller,” I monotone. “It means he likes you.”

Wick shrugs and drinks his beer. My eyes stray to the back wall, admiring the mural again.

“That’s some painting,” Wick comments, following my line of sight. “Very pastoral.”

“Clarke did it,” I tell him, pride shining through my voice. I nod at Miller as he lays down a napkin and a stein in front of me. “She worked for a long time on that.”

“Clarke, huh?” Wick approves. “She’s a great drummer, man. Looks like a great painter, too. She do it Michelangelo-style, on her back up towards the ceiling?”

“You ask her. I have no idea how she does it.”

There’s a beat while we both drink, and then, “You two together?”

I barely manage to swallow my beer instead of spraying it all over him. “No,” I gasp, “not a thing, not us. That’s not - not that - ”

“All right, damn,” Wick laughs. “I should’ve known you’d be all hung up on her. I can’t blame you - a girl like that is hard to come by. She seems pretty cool.”

I don’t know what to say, so I just take another drink. How did he peg me so fast?

“Thank god you see it too,” Miller comments, appearing as if from nowhere behind the bar. “He’s been making eyes at Clarke for months.”

“Making eyes,” I scoff. “Fuck you.”

“It’s just nice to not have to pretend like I don’t notice anymore,” Miller says cheerfully.

I can’t believe they know. I feel ill. I have an uncontrollable raging crush on Clarke Griffin and everyone knows. Am I that obvious? I lay my head down on the bar with a groan. I feel Miller pat the back of my head.

“Hey, man, nothing wrong with being into a pretty girl,” Wick assures me. “Actually, from one lovesick bastard to another - ”

“I wouldn’t call it  _ lovesick _ \- ”

“Give me Raven’s number?”

Miller laughs.

I lift my head. “What?”

Wick shrugs again. “She’s cool and I wanna ask her out.”

“You can’t just get her number from Byrne’s contact list too?”

“No one has access to the talent,” he explains blithely. “Honestly, you’re kind of a weak link if any crazy fan gets hold of this kind of information. They can use you to get close to the band.”

“Kind of like you’re doing now?” I joke.

“Hey, I worked with them. We all got paid by the same label. Anyway, Raven?”

“Just slow down,” I say. “Let me talk to her first. I don’t know if she’d be comfortable with it, and I don’t want to go under her nose. She’s been hurt before.” Wick’s face hardens. “I’ll have an answer by tomorrow.”

“Cool,” he acquiesces easily. “You’ll be a good wingman. I’d return the favor, except I don’t actually know Clarke.”

“I’ll do it,” Miller volunteers.

“You stay out of my life,” I threaten.

“It’s been ten years, kinda too late,” he retorts.

“I should never have come here tonight,” I mutter, downing the rest of my beer. Wick claps me on the back genially.


	12. Make It Like Your Birthday Everyday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update! It's been a busy day. Enjoy!

I pull up in front of City of Light, the bar where Murphy’s party is taking place. I haven’t met the guy before, but I’ve heard all sorts of dickweed things about him from my roommates. Even Monroe’s met Murphy. Her nose wrinkles when he’s brought up, but she never says anything distasteful.

Harper and Monroe help me lug all the equipment inside, Raven and Octavia riding in Bellamy’s car with more gear. There’s no helpful Miller to give us a hand at this bar, just a surly-looking black guy wiping glasses.

We’re early, so it’s just the four of us going about our business silently in the rented-out space until the bell above the door rings.

“Murphy,” Monroe greets passively. The guy looks over at our half-set stage.

“Hey, Monroe,” he replies. “You girls meet Mbege?” He nods over towards the bar, getting the guy’s attention. “John,” he greets.

“John,” the bartender, Mbege, replies.

“I’m Clarke,” I introduce myself. “This is Harper.” Harper nods. “Thanks for hiring us to do this.

“Hey, I keep hearing things about you,” Murphy says, meaning the whole band. “Only the best for my girl.”

“We are,” I brag shamelessly. At that moment, Bellamy walks in with Octavia and Raven, dragging in an amp. In another five minutes, we’re all set up and ready to rock some worlds.

The guests start filing in at eight, half an hour before the party really starts. Apparently it’s a surprise party, so Emori will arrive at eight thirty. I don’t expect to see any familiar faces in the crowd, but then I notice a blonde man I vaguely recognize.

Bellamy, who was chatting with John Mbege, notices him too. “Wick,” he calls, raising a hand. Wick makes his way over to him.

“Isn’t he from the music video?” Octavia asks me. The five of us are clumped by the stage, too awkward to mingle with strangers. Raven looks over in the direction she indicates, makes a surprised face, and then detaches herself from us to walk over. I move behind her, curious.

Before Raven can say anything, Murphy joins the group. “Who’s this?” he questions Bellamy, jerking a thumb at Wick. Apparently this party is invite only.

Bellamy shrugs. “He’s my plus one.”

Murphy rolls his eyes. “Different strokes,” he accepts, and walks off just as abruptly as he’d appeared.

Raven and I stop in front of Wick and Bellamy, respectively. Wick makes an indiscernible face at Bellamy.

“What are you doing here?” Raven asks Wick suspiciously. I’m almost sure she’s going to poke him in the arm painfully, so I take her elbow.

“Hey, the set’s gonna start soon,” I implore, tugging on her.

“Glad to see you too, Reyes,” Wick says, ignoring me. “Looking forward to hearing some more of your stuff.”

“Everyone is,” Raven brags.

“We’re doing some new songs tonight,” I cut in again, for some reason feeling weirdly nervous. “World premiere repertoire.”

“Cool,” Wick replies, but his eyes stay on Raven.

“Hey, uh, Wick, have you met Caspian?” Bellamy tries, pulling Wick away from the bar.

“Let’s go,” Raven says abruptly to me, all business.

“Okay.”

When Emori, a beautiful Asian girl with a surprising face tattoo, walks in and the surprise is sprung, we launch into our set. I zone out, like I usually do when I play, only focused on our sound and our synergy. For an hour or so, I don’t notice the people milling about, the words shouted across the room, or even the applause between songs. Then we take ten, and I tune into the real world again.

Emori comes up to us at the side of the stage, sweaty and tired. Us, not her. “You guys are really great,” she enthuses, to which we all thank her as sincerely as we can. “I’m glad John got an all-girl band. Really brings the talent and the intellect in the room up.”

“He must’ve known it’d be such a sausage fest,” Harper mutters. I elbow her.

“It’s not like we’re anything special. He works with my brother,” Octavia confesses, pointing out Bellamy in the crowd.

“You’re definitely special,” Emori insists. “Sign my shirt,” she changes tack abruptly, brandishing a Sharpie out of nowhere. “I’ll want this when your album drops and you hit the big time.”

“Uh… okay,” Raven agrees, taking the marker. Emori sweeps her hair away and we all sign her back. “You’re weird. Cool, but weird.”

“Murphy’s lucky,” Monroe monotones. “Hit us up if you ever wanna hang.”

We play another half hour set, and since the party doesn’t want to die down, Murphy, who planned for this, gets a playlist thudding through the speakers. He gives us our check, and we’re free to mingle.

“Have fun?” Bellamy asks when we approach the bar en masse.

“Ready for a three-year nap,” Octavia answers, grabbing one of the beers in the coolers. “But I’ll soldier on. I need to go flirt with that guy over there.”

Bellamy looks over her shoulder and his face immediately goes hard. “Not him.”

I look too. “Who is that?”

“Atom,” he grits out through his teeth.

“The cute one?” Octavia gasps. “Well, it’s been a year since I’ve seen him. Now he’s the _hot_ one.”

Bellamy chokes.

“How about we hang out with Emori instead,” I suggest, taking Octavia by the arm and steering her toward the birthday girl. Bellamy tags along, clearly planning on hovering over Octavia for the rest of the night. Luckily, the problem is taken out of my hands when the song changes, Emori cheers, and grabs the closest person to her to dance. The closest person is Octavia, and Bellamy and I are left alone.

“I need to put a tracking chip in her arm,” he mutters.

“She’ll be fine. Once she starts dancing, there’s no stopping her.” I look around to locate my bandmates – Harper and Monroe are in stilted conversation with Murphy, and Raven is… over in a quiet corner with Wick. I nod at them, directing Bellamy’s attention. “What’s with that, anyway?”

“Wick’s into her.”

“Well, yeah, so is everyone,” I remind him. I might be a little biased toward my best friend. “You brought him?”

Bellamy nods. “I got to know him a little during that music video. We get a drink sometimes. He’s a cool guy.”

“Isn’t he way too old for Raven?” I press.

“Nah.”

“Thanks for the comprehensive analysis.”

“Let it just be what it is,” Bellamy suggests. I sigh and he looks down at me. “Clarke, he’s not Finn.”

“I know,” I say begrudgingly. “There’s just so much going on.”

“She’ll figure it out,” Bellamy insists. “Now stop worrying about things you can’t control and go get your groove on.”

I snort. “Good idea, Grandpa. Maybe I’ll get to do the hand jive.” I foray into the crowd of dancing guests and find Octavia. The music puts life back into my tired limbs, and we dance for the rest of the party.

-

The next day is a sore, slow one, but that’s okay, because all that happens is that I receive a group email from Jaha to the members of the band.

_Girls,_

_Just wanted to let you know that the album production is steaming along. We’re still mixing, but two songs are finished and are being optioned for singles. The current project is the album artwork. Several hand-picked artists are being asked to draft a sample of their idea for the cover, and the producers will meet to make a choice. Stay sharp, and rest easy. The hard part is over for you girls._

_Best,_

_Thelonious_

“Clarke!” Two identical calls from the living room.

I stumble out in my pajamas. Raven and Octavia are both on their phones, having just read the email.

“So I had an idea,” Raven begins.

“ _I_ had the idea!” Octavia protests.

“Guys, we _just_ got the email,” I groan.

“Okay, we both had the same idea,” Raven compromises.

“You’re good at art, right?” Octavia starts.

“I hope so,” I respond. “Otherwise, Miller’s got a really unfortunate stain on his wall.”

“You should design the album cover!” Octavia exclaims. Raven nods enthusiastically.

I stare for a moment, then laugh. “Guys,” I point out, “Jaha already ‘hand-picked’ the pool. I’m not exactly in it.”

“I’m sure he’d make an exception,” Raven claims. “You’ve been best friends with his son for like seven years. Plus, you’re the talent. You could threaten to pull out of the contract.”

“Okay, I can’t even begin to explain why that wouldn’t work.” I plop onto the couch next to her. “It’d be cool,” I admit. “I could draw something up, at least.”

“Send it to Jaha,” Octavia prompts.

“And have your artwork plastered all over a case containing even more of your artwork,” Raven continues. It _is_ tempting, when she puts it like that.

“ _Our_ artwork,” I stress. I can hear Bellamy rummaging around in the kitchen. “Bellamy, what do you think?” I call.

The clattering stops and Bellamy pokes his head out. “Do it,” he suggests. “It can’t hurt anything, at least.”

I nod. “I’ll do it, then.”

Bellamy smiles, making his eyes crinkle up, then puts on an introspective face. “What do you put on an album cover?”

“I’ll draw your pretty face,” I tease.

“Instant platinum certification,” he agrees. With a wink, he ducks back into the kitchen, and my face flames up. I hide my face in Raven’s shoulder so no one will notice.

“What if they want just, like, a picture of us, though?” Octavia muses.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” I sigh, getting up. “I’ve got to _have_ a design before they choose it.” I’ve got my work cut out for me, but if this streak of luck holds that I’ve been riding the past four months, I have a good feeling it’ll be worth it.


	13. Barely Blooming Eighteens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get some familiar faces in this installment!

“Okay. Octavia turns eighteen in two weeks,” I remind Raven and Clarke as soon as O shuts the door to leave for school. We’re huddled war room-style around the table. “I’m thinking surprise party?”

“Octavia will kill you for not letting her plan her own,” Raven points out.

“We’ve at least got to tell her we’re planning something,” Clarke agrees. “You can still have creative control, but the party will be something she can look forward to. Octavia doesn’t do surprises well.”

“Remember two years ago when I tried the surprise party angle?” Raven presses on. “She thought we weren’t doing anything for her birthday and got so pissy.”

“All right, you’re right,” I concede, secretly a little thankful that I don’t have to keep anything from O. I don’t know why I thought a surprise party would be a good idea. Emori’s party two weeks ago had just gone so well. “In any case, it can’t be here.”

“How come?” Raven asks.

“I’m giving her kind of a huge present,” I hedge.

Clarke and Raven don’t press. “I’ll call Monroe after school,” Clarke decides. “Her garage should do it. If her folks let us bang around in there, they’ll probably be fine with the noise.”

“Great.” Raven’s checking her watch. “Oh, go to work.”

“I’m outtie,” she crows, vaulting out of her chair.

“And on that note,” I add, rising as well, “I’m off to make a purchase.”

“And I’m off to the storage locker,” Clarke finishes. “Reconvene at six.”

“More new songs?” I ask, smiling at the thought.

“Could be,” she demurs, knocking me with her shoulder as she passes me to get dressed.

With that, I leave the apartment, headed for the dealership across town. With Raven’s and Clarke’s checks covering some of the rent, and all of the hours I’ve been putting in at work now that it’s getting warmer, my Octavia fund has swelled and I have enough money to buy her a car. Specifically, a bright blue, two-door job with a strong safety rating for me and a sound system advanced enough for her. She’ll love it.

I drive the car to Miller’s house, where I know O will never show up and see it. We both love Miller, but his company leaves a bit to be desired. Plus, his place is close enough for me to walk to work and start at half-day. Murphy gives me a ride back to the dealership, where I left my car this morning.

I bought my sister a car, I realize on the drive home. She’s almost an adult, with a job (of sorts) and colored hair and no boyfriend.

I did all right.

-

On Monday, Clarke, the de facto spokesperson for the band, gets a call to do an interview on our local news. The city is big, though, and this news station reaches a lot of homes in the area.

“It’s actually next Friday,” she informs everyone, looking at Octavia.

O gasps. “Birthday interview?!” she shrieks. “I’m gonna get interviewed on my birthday! And then we have the party! This is gonna be the best eighteenth birthday  _ ever _ !”

“Okay, good,” Clarke says, relieved. “I told the lady we had to discuss it. I didn’t want to derail your birthday.”

“Do it, do it!” O implores. “This is so cool.”

-

So, on Octavia’s eighteenth birthday, she’s up at five, bleary-eyed in the car on the way to the news station. Clarke and Raven are picking up Monroe and Harper, so it’s just the two of us.

I break the silence and the monotony of the dark road. “I remember holding you at almost this time.”

“You’d think if I was born early in the morning, I’d be more of a morning person,” O grumbles.

“Mom was so tired,” I recall. The hospital had been as bright as day, and I’d been there by her side for the entire delivery. She didn’t have anyone to look after me at home, so she had to bring me along. It was all worth it when Octavia was brought back in, after having been cleaned up, tiny and wrinkly. “But your eyes were so bright and round, she couldn’t stop smiling.”

“I miss her,” Octavia whispers after a beat. I hum and reach over to take her hand. We’re silent the rest of the drive.

When we get out of the car, she walks around the hood to go into the building, but I hold out a hand to stop her. She looks at me questioningly with those same round eyes.

“I have never been more proud of anything in my life,” I say gravely, “than I am of the person you’ve become.”

O reaches up and hugs me tightly. We stand there for a long time, until Clarke’s headlights swing into the parking lot, blinding us both. “Thank you, big brother,” Octavia sniffles. I didn’t realize she was crying. I stroke the back of her head, then release her.

“Go talk up your music,” I dismiss her, a little lump in my throat too.

I follow the girls into the station.

-

“So, girls,” Diana Sydney, Channel 48, smiles. The five of them are squeezed onto a wide couch, looking coiffed and pleasant at the tail end of their interview. “We have a birthday, I hear?”

Octavia raises her hand, grinning. “Eighteen today,” she brags.

“Any special plans?” Diana follows up. Her face looks grainy on the monitor I’m viewing in the sound booth, but it won’t look that way on TV.

“My brother’s throwing me a party tonight,” she tells the world. “It’s nothing special, just in Monroe’s garage.”

“Hey, my garage is very special,” Monroe defends.

“It’s where we got our start,” Clarke adds loyally.

“So you’d call yourselves a garage band?” Diana Sydney cuts back in. I’m afraid the girls aren’t very good interview subjects. They’re very personable, showcasing their personalities well; it’ll give them a good public face. They’re just not incredibly professional to interview.

“We’re not grunge enough for that,” Raven denies. “We just practice in a garage. It’s got good acoustics.”

Diana laughs politely. “Clarke,” she changes tack, “how does it feel to make the genre switch to electric rock?”

“From… bluegrass?” Clarke forces out. She’s got an excellent poker face, but I can tell she wasn’t expecting Sydney to know that about her.

“Yes, you used to be quite the headline act on the bluegrass circuit,” she confirms, pointing to the wall-size screen behind the girls. A picture of long-haired, country-outfitted Clarke holding her mandolin is blown up there.

“Well, it’s been a while since I left bluegrass,” Clarke demurs, hands folded primly over her knee. “It’ll always be close to my heart, but it just wasn’t the right fit. I’ve found my girls and my music, and that definitely feels good.”

“Thank you girls for coming in,” Diana starts wrapping it up and turning to the camera. “Their album ‘Mecha Station’ will be out next week,” and another image flashes on the wall behind them as she goes on. They all turn to see it, and their faces go from the pleasant friendliness of the interview to total surprise. I bend over my monitor to see.

It’s their album cover. The words MECHA STATION are emblazoned across the top, superimposed over a realistic drawing of a space station. In the background are thousands of stars.

The girls start cheering over Diana Sydney’s outro. She jumps and turns in surprise.

“That’s Clarke’s art!” Harper crows. Clarke looks sheepish and red. “They used Clarke’s album art!”

“Congratulations,” Diana says kindly to Clarke. Clarke nods respectfully.

“Thank you for showing it,” she says, flushed with happiness.

The interview really does finish then, and I leave the sound booth to meet them out in the hall. Monroe has her arms wrapped around Clarke, all of them babbling with excitement.

I wait outside the huddle. Clarke notices me and leaps into a hug.

“You got your cover art,” I congratulate through a mouthful of her hair. It smells like coconut and Clarke. My eyes close.

“Thank you for convincing me to do it,” Clarke murmurs, arms still wrapped around me. “Jaha was happy to keep the album ‘in the family’.”

“I will accept this as my birthday present, Clarke,” Octavia says from behind us. Clarke lets go of me to turn around and talk to her. My arms hang awkwardly until my brain can restart itself.

-

That night, once Octavia declares herself sufficiently dolled up, we head over to Monroe’s.

Monroe, Harper, Clarke, and Raven have the place decorated with streamers that Clarke drew butterflies on. (Octavia really has a thing for butterflies.) The party is already going, since O likes to be fashionably late.

“Happy birthday, Octavia!” several people screech when they see us walk in the open garage door. O gets swept away by a crowd of her eager friends, so I start looking around for my own acquaintances. Raven, surprisingly, has invited Wick, standing over by the dessert table. Clarke is sitting on her drum stool, pushed away in a corner, talking to a girl with braided brown hair. There are a couple of other strangers with them too. I make my way over, snagging a red Solo cup of soda.

“Bellamy!” Clarke greets, hopping off her stool to stand by me. “Guys, this is Octavia’s brother Bellamy. Bellamy, you may know this is Lexa.”

Lexa gives me a terse smile. Her thick eyeliner and signature hairstyle are  _ quite _ familiar.

“Oh my god, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I enthuse, shaking her hand. Her firm handshake somehow makes sense. Lexa has been barrelling toward international stardom for a few years now, the pop sensation whose last name no one knows. She’s from Virginia like us, so she doesn’t feel as untouchable as she probably should.

Plus she’s standing in Monroe’s garage. Really humanizes anyone.

“Clarke’s told me a lot about you,” she says cordially.

“O told me you knew Lexa, but I thought she was exaggerating your merits,” I whisper to Clarke.

“Wow, ouch,” she replies, putting a shocked hand to her heart.

“Hey, it was a long time ago. Before I knew what a specimen you are.”

“Anyway,” Clarke gets back to the topic, “Lexa’s on tour around here, so I told her to swing by. And this is Lincoln,” she gestures to the huge black guy hovering by Lexa, “and Anya.” The Asian woman has the same terse smile as Lexa.

“Well, I hope you’re enjoying the party,” I say to the newcomers.

“It’s a lot of fun,” Anya nods. “Thanks for inviting us.”

“No problem,” Clarke grins. “Hey, why don’t you guys dance, we’ll be right back.” She tugs on my sleeve so I’ll follow her. “Don’t mind them,” she says in my ear once we’re out of earshot. “Lexa and Anya smiled, so they like you. Lincoln does too. They’re having fun.”

“Hey, I didn’t say they weren’t,” I defend. “They just have a funny way of showing it.”

“They’re just introverted,” Clarke says. “When we were dating, Lexa never liked to go out, except when she had a show.”

I stop her with a hand on her shoulder. Her brows are knit, making her face hard. “Hang on, you  _ dated _ her?  _ Lexa _ ?”

Clarke nods. “When I got out of bluegrass and started moving around pop/rock circles.”

“Clarke Griffin, did you just come out to me?” I nod at the door into the house, smiling reassuringly. We climb the two stairs and end up in the hallway to the laundry room.

“I’m bi,” Clarke confirms in the quiet darkness. “It’s not a phase, and I’m not gay.”

“Well, yeah, you dated Finn,” I remind her. “Hey.” I bend my knees a little so we’re closer to eye level. “Thank you for trusting me. I’m glad you told me.”

Clarke surges forward for our second fierce hug of the day. She mutters something muffled by my shoulder, but it’s further obscured by a cheer that rings out from the garage. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” She pulls away. “Can we hang out for the rest of the night, though? It might just be me being self-centered, but I have a sneaking suspicion Lexa is still into me and is thinking of getting me back.”

“Who wouldn’t?” I blurt without thinking. “Let’s find Raven and make sure she hasn’t killed Wick,” I say quickly to cover it up.

We emerge back into the garage, weaving through people until we find Raven. Her pink tips clash gloriously with her green shirt.

I take a look at what Clarke’s wearing for the first time tonight. A simple purple v-neck tucks into her short red skirt, and her beat-up white high-tops complete the ensemble. Only Clarke could make such a haphazard outfit look runway ready.

Wick clears his throat next to me. “You’ve been staring for a full minute,” he mutters close to my ear. My face heats up. “She didn’t notice, chill. They’ve been talking about food.”

A honk sounds in the driveway. I can barely hear it over the music, but I know what it is. I make my way around the edge of the crowd, skirting the dance floor. Octavia is dancing in the middle, the center of attention, as she should be. Her hands are in someone else’s - Lincoln, the big guy with Lexa. My throat goes dry.

“Hey, man.” Miller appears next to me in the open garage door, shoving a pair of keys in my hand. He sees my stony glance and looks toward Octavia, then sighs. “I’ll go get her,” he says exasperatedly. “You go wrap your present.”

I stomp out into the driveway, trying to clear my head. Sitting on the passenger seat of Octavia’s new car is one of those big red bows, which I hurriedly fling on top and tie between the doors. I lean against the hood and wait for my sister to arrive.

Miller leads her out with his hands over her eyes. “Happy birthday, O!” I call, and he releases her.

Octavia takes in the scene for a second, approaching me slowly. The curious crowd has moved to the driveway. “Is this for me?” she asks dubiously.

I spread my arms. “The car is yours,” I confirm. I toss her the keys.

My sister catches them, her eyes taking in the bright blue car hungrily while I step away. “I HAVE A CAR!” she screams, to which the crowd cheers and applauds. “Thank you thank you thank you so much, Bell!” she cries, grabbing me in a vice grip.

“Take it for a spin,” I choke out, trying vainly to free my arms.

O grabs Harper and Raven and they fall into the car, chattering excitedly. Clarke comes to stand next to me while they pull out of the driveway, the other guests going back to dance. “You’re a good big brother,” she commends, resting her head on my upper arm.

I fight the urge to put my arm around her. “I’ve done my best.”

There’s a peaceful pause, the two of us just gazing out into the night. Before I can think of anything else to say, Clarke does.

“We’re moving out.”


	14. Our House, In the Middle of Our Street

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol pretend like this is how realty works.

When the album drops on April 16th, our lives do not change. Our families and all our friends buy the physical CD or a digital copy (Monty and Jasper buy twelve), and I expect some strangers do as well. But it’s not exactly earth-shattering. We’re not catapulted into stardom, we’re not suddenly household names. We do celebrate, however.

By going house-hunting.

Bellamy is a little devastated by the news. I feel bad about taking his sister away from him so soon, even before she’s graduated from high school. I feel bad about leaving myself, too. I’ve come to realize that Bellamy is one of my very best friends. Our relationship is so comfortable and natural since I moved in. The decision isn’t due to Bellamy being terrible to live with, or any discomfort in the apartment. It’s due to Monroe’s parents.

“They’re sick of us rehearsing late into the night,” she told us a week and a half ago during a break in rehearsal. “And then I’m never here whenever we’re  _ not _ rehearsing. So since they feel like they never see me anyway, they’ve offered to contribute to my moving out.”

“Your folks are weird,” Raven had commented.

“They think I'm responsible,” Monroe had shrugged. “I _am_ eighteen. I’d be moving out soon anyway.”

“Ugh, I wish I could move out,” Harper had moaned, stretched out flat on her back on the cool garage floor. “And we could all live together and just be cool roommates like in a sitcom…”

“Wait, why don’t we?” Raven had suggested. All our heads turned to her. “We’ll get a band house. Nothing fancy or big. Just our own space.”

“Only if we can have more than one bathroom,” Octavia had joked. “Sharing with three other people is bad enough, but four?”

“Wait, you guys,” I had interrupted, totally serious. “You’re not joking about this, are you? Because I think we could actually do it.” They all looked at me. “Raven’s got her job at the garage, and I’ve got Miller’s money, and I can make some more. Monroe’s parents are offering, and Harper, you have the money from your grandma, right? Then we’ve got our checks from playing shows, which we could stand to do more of. If we found a cheap place, between the five of us this is totally feasible.”

“I’d like to cast my vote for yes, please share my rent,” Monroe had ventured.

So that was the decision. The next step is finding a place to live.

It’s a free Saturday, so the five of us meander around town, checking out the options.

“We could live in one of the log cabins,” I blurt when we drive past the neighborhood.

“I’m just getting away from my brother and you want me to live in a house he  _ built _ ,” Octavia shakes her head.

It seems like a miracle, but eventually we find a plain Victorian with white siding. It’s dilapidated and perfect. There are three bedrooms, three baths, and a lot of floor space for a drum kit, a keyboard, and three guitars.

“If we don’t get this house, I will cry,” Raven wails dramatically.

-

Two weeks later, we enlist Bellamy’s help in moving into our brand new band house.

“My room is the one on the left!” Octavia crows while her brother staggers under the weight of her heaviest box.

“No, don’t worry about me, I’ve got it,” he groans, lowering the box with a  _ thud _ . I step into the room behind him. “Which room’s yours?” he asks me.

“You’re standing in it,” I tell him.

Octavia slings an arm around my shoulders. “We’re bunking together, and Raven’s across from us.”

“Monroe and Harper are at the end of the hall,” I conclude.

Bellamy nods appraisingly. “You’ve got it all figured out.”

Things have been a little weird with us lately. It’s not  _ strained _ , per se, but it’s the closest to it we’ve gotten since I moved into the apartment. Before then, I didn’t know what to make of Bellamy. Telling him, and everyone else, my secret about living in my car was so freeing, and it opened me up a little. Before I knew it, Bellamy was a  _ real _ part of my life, and like I said, has become a close friend. But either I don’t know the right way to be a friend, or something is different about this.

Maybe it’s just because we’re both always busy at this point in our lives. We’ve never really hung out outside of band stuff. Even living together, we were never in the apartment at the same time.

Whatever the case, I don’t want to lose him.

I hang around him for the rest of the moving process, getting stuck with the same jobs. We move couches together, a mismatched pair I found at a garage sale. When he moves Octavia’s furniture into our room, I start working on my side of it.

“Wanna come empty out my storage locker with me?” I ask him at noon.

“I was gonna go grab lunch for everyone,” he replies.

“I know. I’ll go with you. And we can swing by and grab my stuff.”

Bellamy shrugs, so I follow him to his car.

We pick up a bunch of burgers and fries, the drive quiet. Finally we get to my storage locker, and I break.

“I can’t seriously be the only one feeling this awkwardness, can I?”

Bellamy freezes, bent over to pick up a box.

“I mean, you’ve hardly said a word to me all day.” I have to ask, even if my blood feels like it’s running cold. “Are you upset I came out to you?”

The defensiveness runs out of Bellamy’s face as he straightens up. “Dammit, Clarke, I get ready for a fight and then you hit me with the one thing I can’t be mad at.” He takes a breath. “I’m not upset you came out, I’m upset you’re  _ moving _ out.”

Well, that was forthright. “Look, I’m sorry. I know how close you and Octavia are - ”

“Well, Octavia’s not the only one leaving!” he cuts me off, an edge of anger creeping in again. “You and Raven were my roommates too, as I recall.”

I could get defensive right back, and for few seconds I  _ really _ want to, but that won’t get either of us anywhere. “We’re all leaving you in one fell swoop,” I acknowledge. “But it’s not like we’ll never see each other again. We’re only a few minutes away.”

“I miss you already,” Bellamy chokes out, like he’s fighting every one of his instincts just to be sentimental.

“Bellamy,” I murmur, and step forward to hug him. He wraps himself around me, heavy and nice-smelling like a thick rug. “This is just something we need to do,” I say, my lips almost touching his shoulder. I pull back, feeling warm. “We’ve lived off your charity for too long.”

He shoots me a wry smile. “You could live off it for longer.” He sighs lowly. “I just need to adjust. It’s gonna be hard living without O. Although I won’t miss her bras dangling all over the furniture.”

“Oh no, something that’s touched boobs,” I tease, moving away to start moving my stuff out. “Unlike you.”

“Ouch,” Bellamy winces. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent and experienced lover.”

I laugh, but it comes out all weird. “I’m sure your hand bragged about it to all her friends.” Bellamy reaches into my box of towels and throws one at my head.

We drive back to the house, where Raven and Harper have started painting our bare walls. Every room will be a different shade, the most garish ones we could find. One wall of the living room is an off color of purple, somewhere between heliotrope and mauve. The effect it creates with the couches (one floral orange, the other yellow and green gingham) is truly ghastly. (“You have awful taste,” Bellamy gags. “The pink Christmas tree is going to fit in perfectly,” I gloat.)

After eating our burgers, all six of us get back to it with gusto. The living room and the kitchen (the most insanely bright shade of green we could find) are finished by the end of the day, and all our stuff is transported from our houses. We’re too tired to unbox everything, so everyone heads off to sleep on bare mattresses.

“You should stay,” I mumble when Bellamy and I are the only ones left. We’re slumped on the orange sofa, boneless and heavy. My arm rests atop his, the small couch pushing us together.

“Move,” he replies, pushing me bodily off the couch and to my feet. He curls his legs up, apparently planning on sleeping folded like an accordion. I nod approvingly and trudge toward the stairs to go to bed. “Clarke?” he calls behind me.

“Hm?”

“I like your place,” he breathes, looking at me with bleary eyes.

-

The middle of the night gets chilly. I plod downstairs to find the blankets.

Bellamy is a sight to behold. He’s flipped onto his stomach, his left arm and leg both dangling off the tiny couch so far they’re touching the floor. His other arm is tucked up under him, his leg is sticking straight up in the air, bent at the knee, and his face is pushed askew by the pillow. He’s got green paint smeared at his temple, and his shirt has ridden up and his pants down, leaving a broad stripe of tan skin visible.

I chuckle and grab another blanket.

I cover as much of him as I can, then head back upstairs. I curl up in my own blanket, listening to Octavia snore gently. It doesn’t take me long to fall back asleep, but before I do, a thought runs through my mind, complacent with the weight of an unfinished night’s sleep:  _ I am in so deep for Bellamy Blake. _

-

My eyes snap open. It’s light now, and I can hear literal chirping birds out the window. I stumble to the doorway and see Octavia, Monroe, and Harper in Raven’s room across the hall, prepping it for its paint job. I head downstairs, though, wanting to see someone else.

Bellamy stirs, probably because of my footsteps on the creaky stairs. “Morning,” I greet. 

He looks up at me with cloudy eyes. It takes a few seconds to register. “Hey,” he says, voice gravelly. “What time is it?”

“Uh, nine,” I check the clock. “I’m making waffles, you want any?”

Thank god we stocked the fridge already. I don’t turn on the lights in the kitchen; it’s still too early for that. The natural light is enough.

“Sure,” Bellamy calls from the couch. “Where did this blanket come from?”

“I came down last night,” I confess, taking ingredients out of the fridge. “It got cold.”

Bellamy walks into the kitchen when the first waffle is done. He reaches into the box of plates we have yet to put in a cupboard and waits next to me. I turn to put the waffle on his plate, but I catch sight of him, his curly head illuminated by the light outside so he looks like a vision.

“Fuck,” I blurt, and I drop the waffle on the floor.

Bellamy bends down and picks it up anyway. “I’ll still eat it,” he shrugs. “Five second rule.”

I don’t protest that the floor is dusty and disgusting (we haven’t mopped yet). “I-I’ve gotta…” I stammer, panicking. “Just a…” I dash for the stairs.

I bang into Raven’s room so suddenly that Harper screams.

“I made waffle batter,” I announce, a little too loudly. “You can make waffles.”

Monroe shrugs and immediately makes for the stairs.

“Damn, Clarke, who electrocuted you?” Raven jokes. “You’re all spazzy.”

“Girl, brush your hair,” Octavia laughs.

I reach up, horrified. I can feel what a rat’s nest it is.

“I’m going out,” I determine. I can’t stay here like this. “Can you guys hold the fort for a few hours?”

“Sure,” Harper nods. “Where are you going?”

I mumble something unintelligible and dart for the shower.

I take my sketchbook to the coffee shop near the highway. No lyric writing today; I fill the last blank pages with portraits of the girls. It’s distracting, but not too hard to call their familiar features to my mind. When I’m done, I’m less frazzled, plus I have a nice present for my roomies.

I start the car to drive home, and “Ride On Satisfaction” is playing on the radio.

I sit there numbly for a full verse of the song. Then I scream.

I’m still screaming as I jerk the car into drive. Peeling out of the parking lot, I speed down the most direct road home.

And then the unthinkable happens. My car starts to slow down, even though my foot is pressed to the pedal. Three lights ding on my dashboard simultaneously, and, to my horror, a high whine starts up. I manage to get my car to the side of the road before it completely fails.

“No, no, no!” Our song fades out, and I twist the key in the ignition angrily. My dependable car, the one constant of my life, is dead.

I punch Octavia’s speed dial. Thank god Bellamy got her that car. “Hey, can you come pick me up? My car just fucking  _ died _ \- ” I kick the underside of the dashboard - “and I’m stranded.” I give her my location, then hang up.

Octavia and Raven pull up in front of me ten minutes later. I dig all my personal effects out of my car and shuffle into the backseat, Octavia’s two-door car making it uncomfortable to do.

“I’ll get to work on your baby,” Raven promises. “I’ll send someone in the morning and personally see to every detail.”

“No,” I sigh. “If you do it, I want to pay you, but I don’t have enough money right now.” Raven nods, understanding the need to compensate. “But actually if you could get it moved somewhere else, that would be nice,” I change my mind shyly.

Raven reaches back and pats my knee. It’s such a simple gesture, but I’m so touched by it after the events of today that I tear up a little.

“Our song was on the radio,” I change the subject, wiping my eyes surreptitiously. Raven and Octavia both freak the fuck out.

“What station?!”

“Did they say anything about it?!”

“Why didn’t you call us?!”

“My car was in its dying throes!” I defend indignantly as we pull into our driveway. “Guess we don’t need this two-car garage,” I add morosely.

“We’ll get it fixed,” Raven insists. “Someday,” she adds.

“Whatever. Let’s just tell our other band members the good news and try to forget about the bad,” Octavia charges us.

“Fine.”

The three of us get out of the car, pause for a beat, and then - “WE’RE ON THE RADIO!” we all squeal, jumping up and down and clinging to each other.

Yeah. We’re on nationwide radio.


	15. My Tension's Stirred A Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is seriously the most fun I've ever had writing a fic. I hope you guys are enjoying it just as much!

My phone rings, resounding through the empty apartment. I’ve taken up residence in my old bedroom again, since the girls have vacated it.

I roll over to pick it up, still getting used to the width of my old bed again. “Hello,” I grunt, then clear my throat of the sleepy sound.

“So I was thinking,” Clarke launches in without preamble. Hearing her voice first thing in the morning is a very pleasant surprise. I sit up with a smile. “I’m done unpacking everything and finding a place for it. Except my instruments. I don’t wanna put them in the cold, damp basement, because they’ll get all fucked up, and you have an extra room.”

“Bring them over,” I respond immediately.

“Don’t have a car, Bellamy,” she reminds me. “Thanks, though. I owe you. I’ll get them over there sometime.”

“Hang on, I’m on my way over.” I throw on a shirt and some pants. It’s a beautiful May day, so I drive with the windows down.

O greets me with a kiss on the cheek when I walk in the unlocked side door. The girls are finishing up their breakfast, clearing plates from the table.

“Hey!” Clarke notices me. “Give me a hand with my babies.” She leads me to her stack of instrument cases in the corner of the living room.

“How many instruments do you  _ play _ ?” I marvel, picking up one in each hand.

Clarke hefts a coffin-like case to stand vertically, then rolls it out. “My interests are wide and varied.”

All told, we stuff a viola, a cello, a trombone, a mandolin, a guitar, a violin (“it’s a fiddle,” Clarke insists), an oboe, a French horn, and two saxophones into my car, as well as a double bass in the back seat. I shake my head wonderingly while Clarke sits twisted in the passenger seat the entire way to my place, one hand on her bass in fear that any bump we hit will demolish it.

“I had no idea you were such a band geek,” I laugh when we get safely to the apartment.

“Hey, I’ve been taking music lessons a long time, buddy,” Clarke retorts.

“How long?” I press, pulling both saxophones out of the trunk.

Clarke hauls the gigantic bass up the stairs, making it look easy. She waits until we’re in the apartment to answer. “Started on viola when I was four,” she lists. “Then I wanted to try the other strings, and when I joined the youth symphony in sixth grade, I got jealous of the French horns, so I started picking up brass, and then my winds.”

“And drums?” I venture, going back out for another load of instruments.

“When I met Glass freshman year,” she replies, smiling fondly. “She let me bang around on her kit for a summer.”

“It’s like everything you touch turns to gold,” I boggle. “Your version of ‘just banging around’ is hearing a song once and immediately having the beat memorized.” Clarke is quiet.

“I’ve just had a lot of practice,” she finally says. “Music is what I’ve always known, so it comes easily to me, but that means nothing without hard work. Oh my god, this is embarrassing,” she suddenly gasps. “I forgot the second part of my request. If my instruments are here, can I come practice when I need to?”

I’m already nodding before she finishes the question. She can practice every day, late into the night, early in the morning, if she wants to. “Sure, I don’t mind,” I say casually. Nailed it.

-

The girls’ single “Ride on Satisfaction” gets commissioned for a music video. The song has been playing at least once an hour on the city’s most popular radio station. Octavia tells me about the plans, politely requesting me to provide a carpool again since Clarke’s car is broken down.

“Do it or I’m giving you the Blake Special,” she threatens, referring to her traditional coercion approach of sticking her finger in my ear, then nose, then mouth.

“I would have done it anyway,” I glare across her living room. “Hey, what’s with your phone bill?”

“What?” O asks, confused by the abrupt topic change.

I still pay for her phone, since she’s not exactly rolling in it. She’s been texting quite a lot this month, like a crazy amount. It’s still not expensive, thanks to unlimited texting, but it’s still weird.

“Who are you texting over eight hundred times a month?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know, my friends?”

“You live with your friends.”

“Well, damn, Bellamy, maybe I have other friends!” Octavia bursts.

“All right, I’m sure you do.” I let it drop.

-

I meet the band at the house the morning of the music video. Clarke, Harper, and Monroe bundle into the car.

This one’s on location, in an old abandoned school building an hour out of town. The hair and makeup team sweep the girls away as soon as we arrive. I decide to go exploring.

Everything’s being set up on the ground floor, but there’s a staircase up to another story. I wander the second floor, kicking away dusty bits of fallen wood and peering through grime-covered windows. When I circle back around, I notice a balcony I’d missed.

Someone walks out of the little niche. Wick is setting up his lighting rig there, high above the staging area.

“Hey, man,” he greets me, uncoiling a thick electrical cord.

“You would find a way to make it onto this project,” I rib him.

“What can I say,” he returns genially, “as Raven goes, so goes my nation.”

“She’s actually giving you the time of day?” I whistle appreciatively.

“Well,” Wick demurs. “She’ll tell me if it’s morning or evening, at least. We’re getting there.”

I walk to the end of the balcony, avoiding Wick’s equipment, and peer down. This is actually a pretty high perch; I can’t make out people’s expressions below. The girls are obviously done being styled, though, because I can see their hair, especially Clarke’s bright blonde and blue.

They’re fanned out in a half-circle shape, not their usual setup. They can handle it, though. Sinclair, the director, is talking to Monroe. The five of them are wearing something with a lot of straps, their hair done up high and tight. It actually looks pretty normal on Raven.

The shoot starts with the film of them actually playing the song a couple times. Everyone is bobbing their heads down below (even Wick, who had to go back down to be at his light desk), and I realize that the song is familiar to everyone now. I’ve been hearing it for over a year in its various forms, but it doesn’t just belong to me anymore. And that’s really weird.

They break for lunch, and I head for the stairs. I don’t make it, though, without stepping on a slightly rotten floorboard, which bends and makes me trip, sending me headfirst into a dusty pile of fallen plaster. With a sigh, I heave myself up again, almost my entire body covered in dust. I shake my hair out and keep going.

When I reach the first floor, Octavia catches sight of me and gasps. “What the hell  _ happened _ to you?”

“The karmic gods of retribution for not keeping my place clean after you moved out,” I assume. Wick laughs brightly from down the table.

O starts wiping me off, but someone yells, “Wait!” It’s Sinclair, jogging up to me.

“I’ve just had an idea,” he states, looking me up and down. “Keep all that on, Bellamy.” Octavia must have mentioned me. “I want you in the video.”

“What,” I respond dumbly.

“Dooooo iiiiiit,” Harper chants.

“Yeah, Blake, come look stupid  _ with _ us instead of next to us,” Raven jeers.

“What a compelling argument you make,” I monotone.

“C’mon, Bell, it’ll be fun.” O elbows me. “It’s not like we have creative control,” she mutters as an aside to me.

“Leave him like this,” Sinclair is saying to an approaching stylist. “The dust and dirt is so authentic.”

“Looks like you’re getting your fifteen seconds,” Clarke grins wryly. I take the empty seat next to her and steal some of her fries. “Ew, get your nasty hands away from my food.”

I wish I could smear my dusty hand down her face, but I’m pretty sure I’ll get kicked out and maybe even arrested for that. You never know with these Hollywood types. I just shoot her a shit-eating grin.

The shoot resumes, and Sinclair tells us his new vision. “He’s running from something in this creepy, dusty building,” he says of me, “he runs into the girls. Monroe and Raven shoot the monsters - all CGI, later,” he informs me, “while you run. Get a little farther, and Octavia and Harper will take out their swords and do the slashing. Very cinematic, showcases their strength. By the end, Clarke and Bellamy emerge from the building, Clarke cleans him off.”

Oh. Great.

They get some close-up shots of the girls’ most intense faces, staring down the camera or smirking at it. While they’re doing that, another camera team takes me upstairs to begin the terrified-running-from-pretend-monsters portion. Maybe it’s inconvenient that they have to film sequentially in order for my dust to be “authentic”. I don’t really care.

_ How did I end up here? _ I ask myself as I round corners and put on my best Hitchcock-damsel face.

When they’ve gotten enough of that, we stage my run-in with the girls. Octavia instinctively grabs my arm when I leap into their huddle, but Sinclair doesn’t like that. I do it again, this time ending up crouched behind their girl-power stance.

We keep going like that - me feeling kind of surreal, the girls bringing their A-game and looking badass - until Harper and Octavia break off from me and Clarke. The two of us burst outside like we’re supposed to, then we’re given a break. The crew goes back inside to film the girls’ action sequences.

“This is fun,” Clarke breathes. We did it a little too authentic on the last take. In the dark, dilapidated school, it feels like we might actually be pursued by monsters. I’ve probably sweated all my dust off.

“It’s definitely not how I pictured my day going,” I admit.

“It’s nice to have you be the damsel in distress for once,” she laughs. “Oh, come on, it’s true,” she continues, seeing my confused face. “You took me in, and Raven, tried to fight our ex. You give us rides all the time. Everyone really depends on you, Bellamy.”

I’m definitely not warm from exertion anymore. Suddenly I’m self-conscious of my dust and simultaneously grateful I’m covered in it. If I’m blushing, I want it to be hidden.

Clarke finishes, “You’re so the mom friend.”

“If that means that all my friends are safe and well-fed because of me, I’ll take it,” I retort.

“You’re a soccer mom!” Clarke crows, laughing at me. “We need to get you a tan minivan and a choppy pixie cut.”

“I actually do need a haircut,” I muse.

“Don’t,” Clarke says quickly, and then takes a half-step back, giving me a weird look. “It… works for you,” she mumbles.

Sinclair walks outside then, looking for us. “Ready for the last block,” he announces. Clarke and I are to stay where we are, having just run out of the building into the overgrown courtyard that’s almost become a meadow. We look back at the school theatrically, overdoing the panting breaths. Then Sinclair repositions us while the cameras move over our shoulders.

Shot by shot, Clarke reaches up and brushes the dust off my face. The sun is setting, giving her face a warm glow and making her eyes sparkle. I swallow. Her hand is cool against my forehead and cheek, stripping away the itching layer of grit. She wipes some out of my hair, too.

“And cut!” Sinclair calls. “That was great, guys, really beautiful. We’ll end on that shot of them gazing at each other. That’s a wrap!”

I’m directed to a trailer with a working bathroom, so I can clean myself off at least a little before heading home. I scrub my face, and when I look up from the sink, O is leaning against the doorframe.

“You’re welcome,” she says triumphantly.

“For what?”

“I planted the seed in Sinclair’s head,” she explains as if it should be obvious. “All morning I was going on about how the camera loves Clarke, and how my brother totally has acting chops.”

“You did not push me into a bath of plaster dust,” I tease. “That was what pushed Sinclair over the edge.”

“Still, though. You got to get all cozy with Clarke.”

I heave a sigh so heavy it feels like it’s expanding my bones. “What does Clarke have to do with anything?” I hedge.

“Oh my god, Bell, we all know you like her,” Octavia groans. “Why won’t you just admit it already? If you asked her out, I bet she’d say yes!”

Standing up quickly, I push past my sister in the doorway. I can’t talk about this right now.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I growl. “You don’t need to decide that I’m gonna be in your music video and act with Clarke. It’s not like that, and I’m not asking her out, and you’re not gonna push it!”

“What the fuck, Bellamy?” Octavia rounds on me. “If you could just get your head out of your ass for three seconds, you’d see that life is supposed to be fun, and fulfilling, and you’re not accomplishing any of that! You’re dragging yourself through the mud to get anywhere, and you’re dragging me down too. I’m! Not! Going! To college!”

All I can say is an emphatic “ _ What? _ ” Where did that come from? And since we’re just exchanging non-sequiturs now: “Who are you texting?!”

“I’m texting my boyfriend, okay?!” she shrieks in my horrified face. “Because I’m taking life by the balls so I don’t end up an old man at twenty-four like  _ you! _ ”

She darts past me, small enough to squeeze through in the tiny trailer, and jets back to the school building. I press my fists to my face, trying to see past the red in my eyes. When I’m able to move, I storm to my car and slam the door so hard my arm tingles before peeling out of the dusty lot. I don’t stop until I’m home.


	16. Baby Spice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's short, it's kinda filler.

Octavia and Bellamy are officially fighting.

For four days now, they haven’t spoken to each other, seen each other, or, as far as I know, smiled. No one brings it up at home, not wanting to risk Octavia’s wrath. She just walks around with distracted eyes, uncharacteristically quiet. The only time she seems close to normal is when she’s on the phone with Lincoln, though she still isn’t exuberant and flirty. The rest of us go about our business.

But it’s hard for me to go about my business when my instruments are over at Bellamy’s.

I haven’t spoken to him either, out of respect for Octavia, not that he’s reached out to me anyway. I think he’s assumed that we’re all on Octavia’s side. Unfortunately, we can’t truly pick a side when none of us know what the fight is even about.

So I try not to feel any compunction when I walk the mile or so to the apartment.

_ This is normal _ , I try to convince myself,  _ walking to see Bellamy. It doesn’t mean you’d do anything to see him. Or anything like that. That’d be weird and creepy. _

Whatever. I do have to practice, but I won’t make him come pick me up. In case he doesn’t want to see Octavia. Besides, maybe I can get some information about this fight out of Bellamy, since Tavia won’t tell me anything.

I still have my key to the apartment, so I let myself in after softly knocking to let him know I’m here. I can hear music through the door.

“Bellamy?” I call, taking off my shoes. The music stops. I thought it was the radio, but when Bellamy appears in his bedroom doorway, he’s holding a guitar. “Is that  _ my _ guitar?” I ask, surprised.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, looking down at it. He looks disheveled, like he hasn’t showered since after the video shoot.

“It’s fine,” I assure him, too curious to be irritated. “I just came over to get in a little practice, maybe write. I didn’t know you played.”

He smiles wryly at me. “I did tell you I taught Octavia everything she knows.”

“Shut up,” I answer. “Why don’t you play anymore? You sounded good.”

“My mom taught me how to play guitar,” he explains, strumming absently. “She started to teach Octavia too, but then she died and I took over. I used to play her to sleep on hard nights.” A pause, and then, “I sold my guitar years ago to buy her bass.”

I don’t know what to say to that. After a few seconds, Bellamy hands the instrument to me, as if shocked into remembering it’s mine.

“You can keep playing,” I offer, taking it anyway.

“Nah,” he declines. “It was stupid. I’m gonna clean up.”

He heads for the bathroom, and I head for the former bedroom that is now my instrument storage. I put my guitar back on its stand and start unpacking my viola. There’s an old Seitz concerto that my fingers are itching to play again.

Before coming back to the city, I’d never thought I’d want to revisit my classical roots. I was so eager to leave my disastrous college experience behind and blaze a new path in Finn’s band. But you never forget your origins, your foundations. Sometimes it’s good to go back to basics and remember why I started pursuing music in the first place. Besides, I’ve been telling people about my past a lot lately. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.

I’m interrupted in the middle of the concerto by my phone ringing. I’ve set it to “Elegance Riot” just to be self-centered.

“Hey, Clarke,” my cousin greets me when I pick up.

“Callie! I haven’t talked to you in so long,” I say remorsefully.

“Well, I’ve been plenty busy, so no hard feelings.” I can hear the easy smile in her voice. “I’ve been keeping up with your fame and fortune,” she jabs jokingly. “Kass has to listen to one of your singles before she goes to bed every night - I can’t remember which one, they don’t have any words.”

“Yeah, it can get confusing,” I acknowledge. “So, what’s up?”

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Callie says over the sound of a door opening. “Here she is,” she croons, and I can tell she’s not talking to me. “It’s your cousin Clarke!”

She must be holding up the phone to her newborn baby’s head. I can hear snuffling and little whimpery sounds.

“Hi, baby!” I greet, hoping Callie can still hear me. “I forgot you were due! What’s my new little cousin’s name?”

“Thalia,” Callie says, talking to me again. “She’s very little and very fussy and very in need of some cousinly love! That’s actually why I called you,” she admits.

“Why?”

“Well,” she sighs, “turns out that having an astronaut for a husband makes taking care of a newborn kind of hard, when he’s floating around in space and I’m on the other side of the state from the rest of my loved ones. What are you doing for the next week?”

“Are you asking me to come stay with you and help out?” I clarify. Callie and her husband live one state over, and the rest of my mom’s family lives one state over too, but in the other direction. I’m definitely the closest.

“If you could consider it, that would be tremendous.” She’s trying to sound nonchalant, but I can hear the strain in her voice. At four years old, Kass is more than a handful, and little Thalia won’t be helping matters. Callie’s husband is on a mission on the International Space Station, which I assume ends in a week, since she only asked me for that much.

“Hey, I’m in a band. I’m a total deadbeat,” I say, thinking of Mom. “I think my schedule will be open.”

“Oh, thank god,” Callie hisses. “Thank you so much, Clarke, thank you, thank you.”

“Shit,” I say suddenly, remembering I don’t have a working car.

“Noooooo,” Callie groans, the mood immediately shifting. “What?”

I hear the shower turn off across the hall. “Actually, nothing,” I say hurriedly, trying to sound as upbeat as possible. “Just let me call you back, okay?”

“Okay,” she says dubiously, clearly alarmed by my flip-flopping tone.

We hang up. I finish my concerto, giving Bellamy enough time to get presentable.

“Hey, Bellamy?” I poke my head out into the hall. “Wanna go on a road trip?”

A pause. “What?” He walks out of his room, his hair wet. My throat catches a little at the light glinting off of it. Weighted down with water, it almost reaches down to his eyes.

“Um,” I recover myself. “So my cousin Callie had a baby, and she needs some help for a little while. I’m the closest to her, so she called me, but I don’t have a way to get there. It’s only for a little bit, and she’d love to have you there, too.” I’m overselling it, but I need this ride. He could use a change of scenery too, I think. Plus, just me and Bellamy, on the road for over two hours… “Please?”

“When do you have to go?” he asks.

“Tomorrow,” I decide without much thought.

He nods. “Sure, sounds like fun.”

“Really? That’s it? Not that I’m not thankful,” I add hurriedly.

“I’ll use my vacation days from work,” he muses, all business. “I’ve got to fill up the car, pack a bag. Maybe she’ll want some of Octavia’s old toys.”

“This is gonna be great!” I exclaim, throwing my arms around him. “Thank you so much! I’ve gotta call Callie. Oh - pack a swimsuit. Her daughter’s gonna want to go swimming.”

He smiles as I ramble, which is encouraging. I still haven’t talked to him about Octavia, but he might be more open on this trip.

“I should get home,” I determine. “I’ve gotta pack too, and get shit done so I don’t have to do it after we come back.”

“Wait, how did you get here?” Bellamy asks.

“I walked.”

He scoffs. “I’ll take you home.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I decline. “It’s a beautiful day.”

“Get in my car, Clarke,” he rolls his eyes, palming his keys.

He drives me back to the house, pulling up to the curb instead of the driveway. I can tell he wants a quick getaway.

Now I just have to tell Octavia I’m running away with her brother.

It’s a school day, so I pass the time by packing and doing some more new-house cleaning. The basement is creepy and gross, but we’re determined to get it livable. I hear the garage door close when they get home and go up to meet them.

“I have a news item,” I announce, following them up to the bedrooms.

“Raven’s not here,” Harper points out, tossing her backpack onto her bed. Octavia comes in after disposing of her stuff.

“I’ll recap later,” I shrug. “Basically my cousin needs some help taking care of her new baby, so I’m heading out there for a week. But, obviously, I need a ride, so Bellamy’s coming along.” I say the last part gently, watching Octavia’s face. “Just wanted you to know in case you need him for something in the next week,” I explain.

Tavia shrugs. “We’ll talk when you get back,” she decides. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Anyone wanna study for finals with me?” Monroe asks, trying to change the subject.

I retreat back to the basement, thinking about what tomorrow will bring and hoping Octavia will follow through on her decision.


	17. Have Love, Will Travel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT. This is the chapter that started it all, my cornerstone for this fic. HERE THERE BE TROPES.

Clarke throws her duffel bag into the backseat and buckles up quickly. “Let’s go, let’s go!” she chants, bouncing in her seat.

I shift into drive, smiling already. “You eat breakfast? We can hit up Waffle House or something if you need.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Clarke declines. She pulls out her phone, flicking through it. “I made a road trip playlist,” she informs me, already reaching for the aux cord.

“Are you a car singer?” I ask.

Clarke gives me an obvious look. “I am a car  _ performer _ ,” she corrects. “It’s been so long since I’ve gone on a road trip. I’m getting rusty.”

“Is this One Direction?” I groan.

“Shut up, they’re great,” Clarke babbles, trying to get the whole sentence out before singing. “OH I JUST WANNA TAKE YOU ANYWHERE THAT YOU LIKE,” she shouts, leaning over the center console to sing in my ear. I laugh, tuning her out until I turn onto the highway, until she gets to “And if you, you want me too, let’s make a move,” and I’m suddenly wondering if One Direction is more relatable than I thought.

“And let me kiss you!” Clarke punctuates the chorus by blowing an exaggerated kiss.

This is gonna be a long drive.

-

The whole mix isn’t One Direction, but a lot of it is. I might be a little biased, but the songs sound a lot better in Clarke’s voice. We roll down the windows, passing cornfields under the sun.

“How do you do that?” I ask, shaking my head.

“Do what?”

“You sound perfect singing anything,” I say, trying not to let the frustration into my voice. It’s not fair to anyone who hears her that she sounds like an angel, but it’s not her fault.

Her fading blue curls whip around her face. “Really?” is all she asks.

“Oh, don’t pretend like people don’t tell you all the time,” I press.

There’s a long pause, which makes me think I’ve offended her. Then she says, “It’s different from you.”

“Why is it different from me?” I blurt in surprise.

Clarke shrugs. “Your opinion means a lot to me,” she mumbles, looking out the window.

I can’t fight the compulsion to touch her, reaching for her shoulder so she turns back to me. “Hey,” I say seriously. “The feeling’s mutual.”

She smiles at me and my stomach feels like the bottom’s dropped out. I have to look at the road, but it’s hard to tear my eyes away.

“We’re almost there,” Clarke tells me. “Get off the highway at the next exit.”

-

“I’m sorry if I say I need you, but I don’t care, I’m not scared of love,” Clarke is singing when I pull into her cousin’s driveway. “‘Cause when I’m not with you I’m weaker, is that so wrong? Is it so wrong that you make me strong?”

I jerk the door open, needing to defuse the tension that only I can feel.

“Hey!” An Asian woman appears in the front door, a little girl on her hip.

“Callie!” Clarke jogs down the path, where they meet halfway and hug tightly. I start pulling our bags out of the car. “Hey, Kassie-bear,” she adds, tickling the toddler, who laughs shrilly. “Wanna meet my friend?”

I walk up to the little group, hoping my smile is friendly and not weird. I’m not entirely comfortable smiling.

“Bellamy, right?” Callie guesses, and I nod. Kass squirms to be put down, so she sets her daughter down on the ground and then surprises me with a warm hug. “Thank you so much for coming. This is a big help.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I say awkwardly, feeling intrusive. Clarke hasn’t seen her cousin in a while, she told me.  _ She invited you _ , I remind myself.

“Do you know songs?”

I look down at the little dark-curled girl who’s gazing up at me with sweet blue eyes. “Yeah, I know some songs,” I tell her. Her face lights up and she runs back into the house.

“This’ll be great,” Clarke says, patting me on the shoulder.

We follow Callie into the house and down a hall. “I hope this is okay,” she says, “but we only have the one bed.”

“It’s perfect, Cal,” Clarke dismisses, looking in at the double bed with me. Callie leaves us to get settled.

“I’ll take the floor,” I offer, laying my suitcase down.

“What are you talking about? Just share the bed,” Clarke dismisses. “I don’t bite. Or kick, like Raven.”

“You guys like tuna?” Callie calls from the kitchen.

“Sure,” Clarke calls back. I decide to let the matter drop for now.

“So she’s your cousin?” I ask. “You guys just… don’t look that similar.”

“I know,” Clarke laughs. “Her dad is Asian. She takes after him, but she’s biracial. Also, my dad was totally Aryan, so I’m REALLY white.”

“I’ll try to pick out the family resemblance.” I follow her out to the kitchen, where Kass is perched on a booster seat, picking at a pile of carrots.

“So what’s your deal, Bellamy?” Callie asks, setting down tuna fish sandwiches in front of us. “How do you and Little Lark know each other?”

“Oh my god,” Clarke groans, rolling her eyes.

“‘Little Lark’?” I raise my eyebrows, shooting her a look.

“It’s because of the singing thing,” Clarke sighs. “And also my name, obviously. Take away the first and last letters.”

“You thought it was cute when we were little,” Callie insists.

“I went along with anything you thought was a good idea,” Clarke retorts.

“My sister is in her band,” I answer Callie’s question.

“Octavia; she’s really talented,” Clarke adds loyally.

“Lark!” Kass calls, obviously not used to being deprived of attention. She reaches over and smears carrot on Clarke’s face.

“Need a hand?” Clarke teases, grabbing the pudgy limb gently and licking it. Kass shrieks, triggering a cry from another room.

“Thalia’s up,” Callie sighs, leaving us alone.

“That’s our cue,” Clarke determines. “Babysitting duty activated.”

“What do you wanna do today, Kass?” I ask, leaning down toward the table so I’m not so tall and big.

“Swim!” she crows, throwing her hands in the air. Clarke takes her napkin and wipes her face with it.

“Told ya,” she says to me. “Let’s finish our lunch first, okay, kiddo?”

We feed Kass and ourselves, then Clarke takes her to get dressed. I change into my trunks and wait in the kitchen again.

“Okay, you take Bellamy to the pool and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes,” Clarke instructs Kass, leading her out to me in her ruffly purple two-piece.

“Wait, can she swim?” I call after Clarke. I don’t know any details about this little girl’s talents so far.

“She’s got floaties,” Callie’s voice calls from the baby’s room. “They’re at the pool already, she’ll be fine.”

“Got it,” I call back. Kass takes my hand in her little one and drags me out the back door.

Turns out the pool is just the neighbors’ in-ground pool next door. They let Kass use it in the summer, and just as Callie said, a pair of blue arm floaties is waiting on the pool deck. I squeeze her little hands through the holes.

“Throw me in!” Kass demands, reaching up impatiently. If she wasn’t so damn cute, I’d probably be annoyed. And if she didn’t remind me so much of Octavia when she was little.

I grab her around the middle, giggling, and toss her into the shallow end. Her curls drip when her head pops back up, buoyed by her inflatable cuffs.

“Here I come,” I warn, moving down a few feet so I don’t drown her. I take a running leap and splash into the pool, dousing her all over again. When I come up for air, she’s paddling clumsily over.

“Do you know a song?” she asks again, grabbing my arm while I steer us back to shallower water.

“I sure do,” I confirm. “Wanna hear my baby sister’s favorite song from when she was little?” Kass nods, so I pick her up and start swinging her gently around in the air.

“Daisy, daisy, give me your answer do,” I warble over her laughs. “I’m half crazy all for the love of you! It won’t be a - ”

“Lark!” Kass starts squirming in my arms and I nearly drop her. I keep her long enough to set her down gently in the water, which she promptly churns up in her eager effort to reach the stairs. I turn around, knowing Clarke is coming from next door.

The breath gets knocked out of me as I take her in. Her hair floats freely around her face, gleaming in the sun. Her two-piece is bright green with pink flowers, and, at the risk of being lewd, it is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. She bends down to pick up Kass, showing off her shapely legs, and twirls her around.

“Are you having fun with Bellamy?” she asks, setting her cousin down. Her eyes find me, standing frozen in the shallow end, water dripping off the bottom of my trunks, probably with my mouth open like an idiot. She takes in a little breath that I’m too distracted to think about, other than the fact that it makes a piece of hair flutter in front of her face. For a few seconds it’s just the two of us looking at each other.

“Jump!” Kass calls, running to the edge of the pool. She seems to be a girl of few words. The resulting splash snaps me back to reality; Kass is in a little too deep for my comfort. I wade over to her, towing her into the shallow end by her leg. “Jump, Lark!” she instructs, spitting out water.

“No thanks, sweetie,” Clarke declines, moving toward the shallow stairs. “Jumping’s too scary for me.”

“I’ll catch you,” I blurt without thinking.

“Oh, well, that’s me sold on the idea,” Clarke jokes, but she’s stopped walking the other direction.

“Jump together!” Kass amends, smacking her hands on top of the water complacently. Turns out she means  _ all _ of us together, which is just fine with me. I have got to get a grip on my feelings for Clarke.

Clarke joins us at the edge of the pool, taking Kass’s other hand, like a barrier between us. “One, two, three!” she counts down, holding her nose with her free hand.

Kass leaps into the water on “three”, while we wait a beat. Off-balance, I lurch into the water, diving away so I don’t hit Kass, paddling happily. Apparently Clarke had the same idea. She’s out past where her feet can touch, trying and failing to look like she’s in control.

I swim out to her, knowing Kass will be fine with her floaties. Clarke reaches the wall with her fingertips and clings. I get there a second later, and she turns and flings her arms around me, hair dripping into her eyes. Without a word, I tow her to the stairs. When she doesn’t detach herself from my neck, I gently pull her hands off, fighting the desire to leave them there. I guide her to the top step, just barely covered with water. Clarke sits down, one hand still on my shoulder.

“You wanna tell me about that?” I ask tentatively, seating myself on the next step down.

“My dad drowned,” she replies brutally, her voice small.

Aghast, I hurry past my own shock. “Clarke, I’m so sorry.” There’s nothing else to say. “Why are you swimming? You don’t have to - ”

“I know how to swim, Bellamy,” she cuts me off. “It’s just… deep water. It freaks me out. I freeze up and… I think about him.”

Kass shuffles back over to us, cutting our discussion short. I hope she’ll still be willing to talk about it the next chance we get.

-

Baby Thalia is colicky, but she’s an absolute doll. When she’s not crying, her eyes follow Kass as she runs around, or Clarke dances around with her in her arms.

When the little girls go to bed, Clarke and I do too. It’s been a long day of driving and playing, and I’m exhausted. Clarke’s slow movements make me think she is too.

She uses the bathroom, then I do. When I get back to the room, Clarke is under the covers in the bed.

“Wanna give me a pillow?” I request. I still haven’t given up the floor thing.

Clarke just rolls her eyes and turns the comforter down, wordlessly ordering me into the bed. My brain resists, but the rest of me really doesn’t. I’m too tired to protest. I just flick the lights off and slide in.

Clarke turns while I settle. I can feel her blue eyes on my face. “Today was fun,” she comments. After the pool, we’d put Kass down for a nap and hung out with Callie, flipping through channels on the TV even though none of us were really watching. Then we’d helicoptered around Thalia until Kass emerged from her room, energy renewed and intensified. She wore us out.

“Yeah,” I agree, not knowing what to say.

“Kass loves you,” she informs me. “She’s probably not old enough to realize it, but she misses her daddy. You look enough like him. You’re really good with her.”

“Thanks,” I grin. “I had a lot of practice with Octavia.”

For a little while, the night is quiet. I think Clarke’s fallen asleep until she asks, “What happened with her?”

I should’ve known. Distance from the drama doesn’t make it stop existing. I roll on my side, mirroring her. Her hair, splayed on the pillow, is bright in the moonlight. “She told me she’s not going to college,” I tell her, skipping to the end of the shouting match. It’s true, but it’s not exactly the crux of the argument.

“I know,” Clarke says quietly. “I know about college, I mean, not that she told you. She won’t tell me anything about the fight.”

“She wouldn’t,” I scoff quietly. She wouldn’t go to Clarke with what she’d said about us. “She’s been rolling her eyes at the idea of college for a while now, but I always figured she’d still go, you know? I don’t have much of a college fund for her, but it’s at least enough to get her started.”

“Did you go to college?” Clarke asks.

I shake my head. “I couldn’t. Not enough money, not enough financial aid. I don’t even know what I would’ve studied.”

“Well, she missed the application deadlines a long time ago,” Clarke points out. “Sorry, that’s probably not what you wanna hear.”

I run my hands down my face. “She has a boyfriend,” I admit for the first time. “She has a boyfriend and she didn’t even tell me.”

“You met him,” Clarke tells me slowly, like she doesn’t want to tell me this but she has to. “At the party. Lincoln.”

“Lexa’s friend,” I grumble.

“And mine,” Clarke adds, a little defensive. “He’s a good guy. I know he looks scary, but he treats Octavia right. He really likes her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I question her, pulling my hand away. I’m not angry with her, just curious.

“Octavia didn’t want you to know.” Clarke bends her knees; I can feel her legs shift beneath the covers. “I wasn’t going to betray her trust, even for you. She wanted to be the one to tell you, but only when she knew it was serious. And also you tend to overreact about her and boys.”

“I do not!” I protest, hushed. “I mean… well, she was into  _ Atom _ ,” I justify.

“She’s never even gone to a school dance,” Clarke reminds me.

All my emotions seem dulled by exhaustion, but this one isn’t. All at once, remorse courses through every inch of my tired body, weighting it down. “I’m a terrible brother,” I realize, running my hands down my face again.

“Hey,” Clarke protests, taking one of my wrists and pulling it away. She doesn’t let go. “You’re the best brother I’ve ever met,” she tells me vehemently. “You care about that girl more than your own life or anyone else’s. You’ve raised her for years, all on your own, and she’s so grateful for that.”

“Then why’d she leave?” I ask quietly. I’m momentarily embarrassed by how whiny I sound, but then Clarke puts her free hand on my cheek and all I can think about is how soft and warm it is.

“She left because she needed to find out who she was without you there to hold her hand,” she explains. “But if she ever needs or wants that hand to hold again, she’ll come back. She already does. She needed you to drive us to that video shoot, and you did. You helped us move in. You’re helping her take off, and that’s what’ll keep her tied to you.”

“You should put that in a song,” I joke lamely.

“I’ll think about it,” she replies in the same tone. And with that, we let ourselves drift off to sleep.

Even though my brain is screaming at me that Clarke hasn’t moved her hands from my face and wrist.


	18. Just Another Crush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for some ridiculous drunk behavior!

“Thank you so much for coming,” Callie gushes when we release each other from our hug. Her husband has landed safely in Florida, and now it’s her turn to take a road trip to pick him up. Kass and Thalia are safely bolted into their car seats.

“We had a great time,” I assure her. “Ready to hit the road?”

“It’ll be interesting,” Callie monotones, looking at her energetic four-year-old and fussy baby. “I’ll Snapchat you if Kass is being funny.”

“Perfect.”

“Bye-bye!” Kass calls, waving her pudgy hand. “Bye-bye, Lark! Bye-bye, Bella!”

“Catch you later, kid,” Bellamy waves back, leaning on the hood of his car.

“Bye, Kassie-bear,” I grin, leaning into the minivan and kissing her on the forehead. “Don’t give Mommy too much trouble.”

Kass gives me an innocent look that I know better than to believe.

Bellamy and I take our seats in the car, watching as Callie pulls out and drives away. Then we follow.

The week has been an adventure, to say the least. We’ve taken Kass to the county fair, the zoo, the park, and the neighbors’ pool five days in a row; we’ve covered the driveway in chalk drawings, we’ve made up songs, we’ve baked three different types of baked goods, we’ve returned a stray cat, and we’ve slept in the same bed for the past six nights. That’s been interesting.

I’m always dog-tired by the time we go to bed, but the physical situation keeps me wired. Bellamy and I always talk for a while, usually not for very long, but we still stay up. It’s easier to talk about serious things in the dark. The moonlight makes his freckles stand out. I always wake up touching some part of his body with some part of mine. It’s a good thing I always wake up first. It would have been incredibly embarrassing to be caught like that, but I can’t seem to stop myself from doing it.

The fact that I have an enormous crush on Bellamy is impossible to ignore by now.

But he’s one of my best friends, so keeping everything the same as it always was is pretty easy. And simultaneously Herculean.

The breaking point was the pool.

Bellamy in swim trunks, wet and clinging to his muscular legs, was a sight I was  _ not _ prepared to see. I like to think I recovered well the first day, but every time Kass wanted to go to the pool again, I had to brace myself for the image of his abs, back, and strong arms - oh my god, his  _ arms _ \- flexing and extending while he played with Kass.

Good with kids, too. Another factor.

And when I’d freaked out in the deep end that first day and he’d carried me back to the stairs - 

“What are you thinking about?”

“What? Nothing.” My face feels five-alarm-chili-hot.

“You wanna listen to your music again?” Bellamy offers.

“Oh. I’m out of songs on my road trip playlist,” I shake my head, “but we can just shuffle through and see if anything good comes on.”

NOTHING good comes on. My music library betrays me and shuffles everything from Elvis (“I ain’t asking much of you, just a big-a big-a big-a hunk o’ love will do”) to Hilary Duff (“Love just is, whatever it may be”) to Faith Hill (It’s the way you love me, it’s a feeling like this”). Even One Direction betrays me (“Truly, madly, deeply, I am foolishly, completely fallen”). By the time Taylor Swift’s “You Are In Love” pops up, I’m flustered and panicking.

“We don’t need music,” I babble, ripping the aux cord out of my phone. “We can just talk.”

Bellamy nods. We still don’t talk.

I roll my window down, feeling extremely self-conscious. Come on, think of something to talk about! What if he regrets coming on this trip with me? What if he thinks I’m super weird?

My phone rings. “Oh, thank god,” I mutter. It’s Raven. “Hey, we’re just on our way home.”

“Cool,” Raven acknowledges. “I guess I could wait to give you this news, but since I’ve already got you…”

“Good news?”

“Definitely.” I can hear Raven’s smirk. “High Point called to book us for a gig at their stage.”

High Point is the local amusement park. I haven’t gone there in years. “Seriously?”

“Would I fuck with you on this?” Raven retorts. “We’re playing in three weeks.”

“My birthday!” I cheer, my mood taking a swift upturn.

“Wait, really?” Raven asks.

“Never mind that,” I dismiss. “We’re playing a show  _ not _ as a favor for our friends?”

“Dude, we are gonna kill it,” Raven gloats. “Plus now that school’s almost out, we can rehearse around the clock. Or, well, close to it.”

“How’s finals week going?”

“Not gonna lie, it’s messy,” she tells me. “I mean literally. The dishes are piling up and our laundry is fucked.”

“I’ll see if I can put a dent in it when I get back,” I promise. “See you in a few hours.” I end the call and scream excitedly.

“Sounds like good news,” Bellamy smiles.

I give him the story, and he pulls over for ice cream to celebrate. The chocolate smears around his lips, and it’s a problem for me.

Great. Back to being incredibly weird.

-

When we get home, Bellamy pulls into the driveway. I don’t ask for an explanation, but he gets out of the car, confirming my suspicion that he’s finally going to talk to Octavia. He grabs my bag from the backseat before I can reach for it and precedes me into the house.

Raven was right. The place is a mess. It’s only been a week, so it isn’t terribly bad, but I open a window in the kitchen just the same.

“Tae?” I call into the depths of the house. “You home?” Her car is here, so she must be.

“Upstairs,” she calls back, so Bellamy follows me to our room.

“Hey,” I greet her, surrounded by books. It’s Tuesday, so she still must have three exams. “We have a guest.” I take my bag from Bellamy and throw it on my bed, then leave again. I did promise Raven I’d try to clean.

I wash the dishes and put them on the drying rack, then straighten up the living room. When that’s done, I go up to Monroe and Harper’s room, trying not to listen to anything being said behind Octavia’s and my closed door.

“I’m back,” I announce, knocking on their unlatched door.

“Hey,” Monroe greets, head dangling upside-down off the side of her bed. I think she’s trying to read the book on the ground an inch from her face.

“How was it?” Harper asks, taking off her glasses.

“Oh, you know, super cute,” I tell them, joining Harper on her bed. “The babies, I mean,” I add hurriedly.

“What else would you mean?” Monroe asks rhetorically.

“I don’t know,” I blurt, shaking my head rapidly. “It’s nothing. How’s finals?”

“UGHHHHHH,” they both groan.

“Do you know anything about stoichiometry?” Monroe asks hopefully.

“Roe, I was a music major.”

“I was afraid of that,” she sighs.

“Want a break?” I offer. “We can re-dye our hair.”

“Yes, PLEASE,” Harper begs, rising immediately. “If I have to read one more word about Nathaniel Hawthorne, I’m going to explode.”

-

On Saturday, Octavia, Harper, and Monroe graduate from high school. Bellamy comes over to pick up me and Raven after the girls leave to prepare for the ceremony. We’re all clean and presentable, and so is our house now that we’ve given it a thorough scrubbing.

“Lincoln’s meeting us there,” I tell them, checking my phone.

“So is Wick,” Raven adds very quickly, almost unintelligibly.

“Wick?” Bellamy and I both repeat teasingly.

“Shut up,” Raven snaps, reaching from the backseat to punch Bellamy in the arm. I realize that I immediately took shotgun without even calling it.  _ That’s a problem for future me _ , I decide.

“You look nice,” I comment to Bellamy. That’s not weird. Friends compliment each other all the time. He’s dressed in dark slacks and a blue dress shirt, so simple that it only brings out his good looks more.

“So do you,” he reciprocates. “You guys,” he amends, looking back at Raven in the rearview mirror.

It’s true. Raven has her long hair in a bun, hiding the pink tips. Seeing her in a sundress is weird, but we wanted to match, “proud mothers that we are,” she’d said. Hers is light blue with white polka dots, complementing her dark skin. Mine is white with indigo flowers, but my hair is just like normal. I don’t have anyone to impress, unlike Raven, apparently.

I reach back to shove her knee. “So there’s a  _ reason _ you wanted to get all dolled up today,” I go back to teasing her.

“It was his idea to come, not mine,” she persists, crossing her arms.

“I hate to break it to you, Rave, but he liiiiiikes you,” I rib her. Bellamy laughs.

We pull into the school, which looks exactly the same as always. I don’t feel a sense of deja vu, but I do feel a sense of residual dread. I haven’t been back here since my own graduation. It’s eerie to see how nothing’s changed.

The gym is packed, which isn’t that hard to do. Our school is positively tiny, even though it offers advanced classes; our three girls practically make up a third of the class. That’s an exaggeration; there’s 25 kids in the class.

Lincoln finds us and sits next to me stoically. He came into town just for this, which is incredibly sweet and kind of dangerous, considering Lexa’s rules for her band. I assume he knows the risks and don’t bother inquiring.

Wick joins us just before the ceremony starts. “Sorry,” he greets us, “I couldn’t find parking. It’s a zoo here.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t expect it from this tiny school,” Raven agrees. “But since there are so few kids, there’s even more room for relatives to cram in here. They come from all over the country.”

“You also have fans now,” Lincoln puts in.

Everyone turns to look at him. “What?” I ask, my brow furrowing.

“It’s no secret where you guys are from,” he explains. “I expect some followers of your band have come to see if they can get an autograph.” His knuckles clench menacingly. He’ll probably physically fight anyone who tries to touch Octavia. If Bellamy doesn’t get to it first.

“Well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” I soothe, turning around to see if I can catch a glimpse of approaching graduates down the hall. What I see instead is Wick’s hand on the small of Raven’s back, the two of them sitting amicably.

Weird.

Then the graduates do start the procession, looking up into the stands. Octavia waves up at us. Lincoln does nothing but nod back, which is actually a huge show of support. Harper and Monroe see us too and smile. Monroe gives us finger-guns.

The ceremony is blessedly short, thanks to the class size. An unexpected amount of cheers ring out when our bandmates’ names are called; Lincoln was right about the fans. I start to feel uncomfortable.

And then we’re allowed down onto the floor, to take pictures with our graduates and congratulate everyone. Bellamy, Wick, and Lincoln flank me and Raven, comically like bodyguards.

“IT’S OVER!” Octavia cheers, throwing her arms around Lincoln and then Bellamy. I notice Bellamy’s eyes tighten infinitesimally.

“So now what?” Harper asks, joining us after talking to her family. We didn’t have time or resources to plan a graduation party, which didn’t break any of the girls’ hearts.

“I have an idea,” Monroe suggests, already unzipping her gown.

-

So we end up at Miller’s bar at two in the afternoon. He doesn’t serve the underage girls drinks, but he is kind enough to look the other way while Bellamy, Wick, and I buy for them.

We call Monty and Jasper, and they get there half an hour later, Jasper wearing a pair of ridiculous goggles atop his head. Miller pumps some energetic music through the speakers, and with no one else there even though the bar’s open to anyone, we get our party on.

I allow myself to drink; since I have no car, I don’t have to worry about driving. Harper, Monroe, and Octavia are dancing in a space Miller cleared of tables. Monty and Jasper are bothering Lincoln, though he doesn’t seem to mind, and Raven and Wick are deep in conversation down the bar.

I sigh contentedly. This feels right.

“You know, I get a lot of comments on that thing,” Miller says to me, nodding toward my mural. “You’re pretty popular.”

“Oh, yeah? Anyone wanna hire me for another job?” I joke. I’m doing okay for myself now that we’re selling albums and getting YouTube views, but I admit, it’d be nice to have work.

“I just tell them to buy your CD instead.” Miller gestures to a sign he’s posted in the window, featuring a picture the five of us and my album art.

It might be the alcohol, but I am so touched by Miller’s stoic friendship that I tear up. I half-stand up from my stool and grab him around the neck across the bar.

“Thank you,” I whine in his ear. He must get girls like this all the time; he pats my back calmly and slowly.

“Whatever,” he shrugs, his moving shoulders knocking my arms away. Satisfied, I sit back down to nurse my drink.

One of our songs starts playing over the speakers. Everyone cheers and goes back to what they were doing. Energized, I get up and join the girls on the floor to dance.

When the song’s over and we’re tired, I pick up my drink and move to sit next to Bellamy, who’s been looking at some papers in a booth. I should’ve taken the seat across from him, but I’m definitely at least tipsy now and I don’t care. “Boo,” I greet him.

He shifts in the seat so his back is against the wall, giving him more room. I try not to feel hurt by that. “You having fun?” he asks, shuffling his papers into a stack.

I nod. “You should be up there with us,” I tell him, nodding to the crowd of our friends at the bar. “What’ve you been doing back here?”

“Just some paperwork,” he dismisses. “You look very pink,” he informs me.

“I think I’m drunk,” I confess, wrinkling my nose. My head feels kind of heavy. I lean towards him, planting my forehead on his shoulder. “Your shoulder’s nice,” I tell him.

I hear him swallow, I think. “Oh, yeah?”

“Just letting you know,” I confirm. “And you smell nice. And your face is nice.” I look up, still leaned toward him. I poke the tip of his nose with my finger. “You’re just really nice all over,” I finish.

“M-maybe we should get you some water,” Bellamy suggests. His eyes are really dark. He pushes gently on my shoulders. I get out of the booth hurriedly, suddenly embarrassed. He doesn’t want me there. But then he gets out and puts his hand on my waist, taking me to the bar. I wasn’t dizzy before he touched me. I guess it’s a good thing I’m probably drunk, so I have an excuse for my instability.

Miller slides a glass filled with water down to us without even being prompted. He’s a really good bartender. Bellamy sits with me while I sip. I feel his eyes on me, and it’s simultaneously all I’ve wanted for this entire day and yet too much for me to handle.

“Raven!” I call, probably a little too loud. She’s way down at the other end of the bar, but there aren’t enough people here for me to need to yell over them. Everyone’s head turns to me.

Raven hops up immediately, though, to stop me from embarrassing myself any further. She’s a good friend. I get off my stool too, say “Bye,” to Bellamy (which I only realize later is super awkward), and hurry with Raven to the bathroom.

“How ya doing, babe?” Raven asks, concerned. We both sit on the counter between the sinks, leaning our backs against the mirror.

“I’m really stupid,” I lament, pulling my hair out of its half-ponytail.

“Everyone is when they’re drunk,” Raven laughs.

“Nope. Nope,” I chant. “I’m way worse, Rae. I totally like Bellamy.” I can’t look at her face when I admit it. “Oh, what’s Tavia gonna say? This is bad, this is so stupid!”

“Hey,” Raven interrupts, moving her head so her face gets my attention. “It’s not a big deal. Octavia’s not gonna care; in fact, I think she’ll be really happy.”

“You won’t tell her, right?” I ask, panicked.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” she grudgingly agrees. “Look, I think it’s great. I was afraid Finn did a number on you.”

“Really?” That was unexpected. “I was afraid he’d ruined everything for  _ you _ . That’s why I was so wary of Wick.”

Raven shakes her head. “We’re not here to talk about Wick. What do you want with Bellamy? What do you think about him?”

“I think he’s great, obviously,” I tell her. “He’s really smart, and hardworking, and he takes care of Tae and the rest of us.”

“And hot?” Raven prods.

“Fuck you.” I shove her shoulder. “Yes, if you must know. But anyone with eyes can see that.”

“You should tell him,” Raven advises. “That you like him.”

“Are you crazy?” My voice goes up an octave. “That’s stupid. You’re stupid. I’m stupid.”

“Well, do you want to go out with him?”

“I… don’t know,” I lie.

“Sounds like a yes to me,” Raven says annoyingly.

“I just - ugh!” I burst. “I want to touch him, and I want to ride in his car, and I want to hold his hand, and I want to sleep in the same bed again, and I want to wear his clothes!” With every item I list, Raven’s eyebrows go up further, and I get more distressed.

“You really like him,” Raven confirms.

“Yeah,” I say, exasperated.

“Do you want him to like you too?”

With that, I burst into tears. “Yeah,” I cry.

“Hey, baby, it’s okay,” Raven consoles me. She pulls my head to her breast, patting it comfortingly. “You know what I think you should do?”

“What?” I sniffle.

“Just do the things that you want to do,” she counsels. “If you wanna spend time with him, spend the time with him. See how things turn out.”

It feels like there’s a puzzle piece she’s not putting into place, somehow, but I’m drunk and I can’t think about it. I nod, wiping tears from my thankfully un-made-up eyes.

“I’ll ask Wick to take us home,” Raven decides, getting to her feet. “If you want.”

I nod, and she helps me down. “Don’t tell him,” I implore, not liking this feeling of an uncontained secret.

“I won’t,” Raven promises. We slip quietly out the back door and Raven shoots a text to the group. Wick takes us back to the house, helping Raven get me upstairs to my room. I collapse into bed, feeling sloppy and miserable. I don’t hear Wick leave, and I don’t hear the others get in later. Before I can fall asleep, though, my phone dings. I reach for it reflexively.

_ You home safe? _

I can’t stop myself from smiling at Bellamy checking up on me.

_ Im in bed wick isnt as good a driver as yuo _

_ Drink some water, okay? Sleep tight. _

_ Bring hangover cures tonorrow _

What can I say? Seeing him will be the best cure.


	19. I Won't Say I'm In Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are coming to a head. Let me know your thoughts!

Clarke’s birthday is on June twenty-second, shortly after their High Point gig. Even though the surprise party didn’t work out for Octavia, I have an urge to plan one for Clarke. I want her birthday to be so special she never forgets it.

The problem is, the girls that make up the brain trust are spending their every waking hour rehearsing and writing songs.

“You guys gonna be free the day of Clarke’s birthday?” I manage to ask Octavia one day when they’re forced to stop working due to the lack of food in their house. She’s at my apartment while the rest of the band is shopping.

“Got a party planned?” she asks, muffled by the couch cushion her face is slumped into.

“Maybe, if I can get some help around here,” I grumble.

“Just keep it simple,” O suggests. “Obviously we’re a little busy to be party planning at the moment, but we’ll try to pitch in. You don’t need to worry about music, at any rate; you’ve got a built-in band.”

“Can’t have a band without a drummer,” I remind her.

“Uh, we happen to know one,” Octavia shoots back. “I’m sure Glass would love to return the favor from her wedding, especially if we get Wells to come. IDK where Luke is stationed right now, but Glass is loaded, she can pay for a plane ticket. I’ll call her tonight.”

“Wells,” I realize. I hadn’t thought of his input. He’s her best friend, he should know what she likes.

“Do whatever you think sounds cool,” he advises very unhelpfully when I get ahold of him.

“Thanks, big help,” I drone.

“I just mean Clarke’s not picky,” he clarifies. “She doesn’t need a big party or elaborate gifts. Not to mention she’ll like anything you like.”

So with those totally clear guidelines in place, I begin the preparations for Clarke’s twenty-second birthday.

-

The High Point concert is the Monday before Clarke’s birthday. The girls are given fast lane tickets as a perk of playing such a large amusement park, and Harper immediately makes a beeline for the tallest, fastest, most popular roller coaster in the park.

“We would never have a hope of getting on this bitch if we didn’t have these tickets!” Octavia crows, waving hers triumphantly in the air and immediately almost dropping it. The girls all quickly hand the slips of paper over to me for safekeeping.

Clarke gives me a calculating look or two on our way through the park. “One of us is gonna have to ride alone,” she reminds the other four, who are getting a few appraising glances by passersby who think they recognize them.

“Last one who gets there sucks to suck!” Raven calls. Octavia, Monroe, and Harper start running a second after her, yelling abuse. Clarke keeps in stride with me.

“Well, get going!” I bark. She doesn’t speed up. “You’re gonna have to sit next to some greasy high schooler.”

“No I won’t. I’ll sit with you.”

“I don’t have a golden ticket,” I point out.

“I know,” she says. “I’ll wait in line with you.”

She’s wearing a red crop top to stay cool. My face feels like it might be the same color. “Clarke, just go ride, you’ll be done in five minutes. I was just planning on waiting for you guys.”

“Are you kidding? This coaster is legendary. It set a new speed record!” she insists. “You have to ride it.” I give her a skeptical look as the end of the line comes into view – “wait time: 3 hours,” a sign reads. “Look,” she persists. “I’m gonna have to ride alone if you don’t come with me.”

I think about it for a few seconds, or at least pretend to. “Fine,” I agree, “but let it be known that this decision was made under duress and I can’t be held liable for any complaints I make in the longest line in the universe.”

She beams at me.

Bless my sister’s timing – I don’t have to worry about Clarke noticing the way my breath just caught because Octavia barrels into me, jabbering about the tickets in my pocket. I hand over the forgotten slips.

“You coming?” O asks Clarke.

“Nah, I’m gonna ride with Bellamy,” Clarke declines.

“What? But you won’t have time to ride anything else before the show!” Octavia presses.

“I don’t mind,” Clarke says. “Go ahead, ride whatever you guys want. We’ll see you at the stage.”

O shrugs and darts back through the empty fast lane. Clarke and I take our places across from each other in the narrow space between guardrails.

It only takes about a minute for me to feel sweat beading on my neck from the hot sun. There are TVs in strategic locations in the line, displaying trivia (Clarke yells out the answers) and old music videos (Clarke makes up different interpretations of the meaning of each shot).

In the row next to us, an Asian man is wrapped around his girlfriend. We’re an hour into the wait and Clarke and I have to stand close enough that I’m imagining us in the same position. My hand on her hip, the other toying with her hair, Clarke rubbing a circle into my leg –

The line budges up a bit and I let Clarke move forward without joining her. When she looks back at me curiously, I shrug. “It’s just a little claustrophobic in here.”

“Bellamy, I’m so sorry!” Clarke exclaims, taking another half-step back to give me breathing room. Then she notices that she’s standing in the shade while I’m in the sun and meets me in the middle again. “Here – ” she grabs my hands, turning us around. “Stay cool.”

“How are you not sweating?” I ask before I’m able to bite my tongue. What a horrible, invasive question, oh my god, what is wrong with me –

She shrugs. “Summer baby,” she points to herself. “I guess I just don’t sweat from heat.”

“I have totally seen you sweat before.”

“Yeah, from exertion or whatever. Just not from being too hot.”

“Oh, my mistake.” I roll my eyes good-naturedly. “I just think it’s impressive that you’re able to look so good in ninety-degree heat.”

Her face is pink. Must be the beginning of sunburn.

We spend the rest of the line observing people, making up life histories for distinctive ones – the orange-haired girl with two little boys clinging to her is their bodyguard, the punk black boy with gauges and a lip ring is working on his PhD in Elizabethan literature, a short man next to a tall woman is in the witness protection program. Clarke makes up a tale about me being a swarthy sea captain, and I return the favor with a long-winded yarn starring her as the leader of a rebellion on a spaceship.

We finally reach the end of the line, board the ride, and Clarke sits as far as she can squeeze herself on her side of the seat so that our legs don’t touch.

“I’m not actually claustrophobic out of line, you know,” I tell her.

She gives me another one of those enigmatic looks and relaxes her body. Our thighs rest against each other. My heart picks up like it always does now when she touches me.

Clarke starts giggling as we mount the hill swiftly. I look over at her. “I laugh on rides, okay?” she confesses. “I can’t scream or yell, I’m just having too much fun!”

At that, we reach the top of the hill and plunge downward. Clarke throws her hands in the air, the wind carrying away the sound of her laugh, and then reaches down again and grabs my left hand, clasping it in the air. I don’t let go through all the tunnels and loops of the coaster.

Our ride photo is something to behold: Clarke’s joyous face and our joined hands up in the sky. I buy it immediately.

It takes some running, but I get Clarke to the stage at the front of the park in time for sound check. I stow the ride photo in one of my bags backstage so that the girls won’t notice me holding it and ask to see. It feels too private.

I brought a book to keep me company backstage, so I don’t even notice the rising noise from the open bleachers beyond the stage. When I realize the crowd is arriving, I look around for the girls. They’re nowhere to be found - I check my watch - probably getting food.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.  _ You here, bro? _ Wick has arrived.

_ In the wings. _

_ Cool. I’ve got good seats too, though. _

He sends a selfie from the very front row, Clarke’s drums gleaming silver behind him. Raven is gonna lose her shit with him out there. Which is to say she’ll be totally professional during the show, but seething when she gets off the stage.

The place isn’t that big, but it’s still impressive to see the house filled up. I’m trying to be inconspicuous in the wings when the band comes back, peering around the back curtains to get a glimpse of their audience.

“This is crazy,” Harper breathes.

“We’re playing a real show,” O marvels.

“We’re gonna be fine, ladies,” Clarke assures them. “It’s nothing we haven’t played before.”

Raven gives me a firm pat on the shoulder and braves her way onto the stage first. The rest swiftly follow, amid cheers from the stands.

“Break a leg,” I can’t help calling to Clarke. “I think.”

“Break a stick?” she offers. We both laugh. “Thanks for being here. This is way scarier than the roller coaster,” she confesses.

“You nervous?” I ask.

Clarke gives me a penetrating look that makes me fight to suppress a shiver. She seems to steel herself for something, and then answers, “Not with you here.” With that, she whirls on her heel and dashes to her drum kit, grabbing her sticks mid-jump and launching theatrically into their opening number.

-

I’m consumed with the most irritating feeling from that night onward. It’s like an empty stomach, but not. To some degree, there’s a lump in my throat, a tingling in my limbs, and I have trouble sleeping at night. I wonder if I should see a doctor.

“Bellamy!”

“Huh?” Raven and Octavia are over for dinner and party planning. Raven shakes her head at me.

“We are  _ trying _ to help you here,” O grouses, folding her arms. “Clarke’s birthday is tomorrow. Are we dressing nice or not?”

I’d thought about them dressing nice, then Clarke dressing nice, which had led me to my distraction. I try not to follow that train of thought again. “You can dress however you want,” I say. “Clarke will probably think you’re being weird if you get fancy, though.”

“Jeans and tank it is,” Octavia says, relieved. The summer has finally gotten truly hot, so Miller’s bar might get stuffy.

Raven is looking at me intently. What is it with all these girls and their incomprehensible looks lately? “Nose goes for dishes,” she calls suddenly, her finger flying to her nose. My hand snaps up too, but Octavia’s too slow.

“Dammit!” She slams her hands on the table but gets up, grumbling.

“Let’s chat,” Raven threatens. I roll my eyes and lead her into my room.

“You don’t  _ have _ to do anything for the party tomorrow,” I tell her. “I’ve got it handled.”

“Are you stupid or something?” Raven accuses, hands on her hips.

“Usually, according to you,” I bristle.

“Do you think we don’t see that you’re disgustingly in love with Clarke?”

It comes out stinging, but that’s just Raven’s way. I’m not stunned like I was when Wick called me out. I did think I’d hid it better from the girls. All I say is “Shit.”

“Buddy, you gotta go for it,” Raven says adamantly. “You can plan all the parties you want, but nothing is gonna change if you don’t  _ tell her _ .”

“I can’t,” I say hollowly. “I can’t lose her.”

Raven rolls her eyes so hard I’m afraid she’ll sprain them. “Listen,” she commands, even pointing a threatening finger at me. “Here’s the thing. You  _ will  _ lose her.” I flinch. “No matter what, you are going to lose Clarke as a friend. But you’ll  _ gain _ her as something else.” I think about that for a second, immobilized.

Clarke holding my hand on roller coasters. Clarke visiting me at work. Clarke talking with me late into the night and sleeping with her hand on my face. Clarke writing songs inspired by things I said - she didn’t say that about “Princess”, but I’ve long suspected. Clarke’s head resting perfectly on my shoulder, her arms around me.

“Whether she becomes something more or something less is up to you,” Raven winds down. “If you don’t take the chance, you’ll never win.”

“Get out,” I tell her quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“Take Octavia and get out of here,” I repeat, looking her in the eyes. I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to do something right now. Something in my face clues Raven in, and she doesn’t take offense. She just nods and leaves me alone, dragging a protesting Octavia with her. I’ll have to answer for that in the morning.

As soon as the door closes, I dash into Clarke’s practice room. Her guitar, which she’d promised I could use if I ever feel the desire, sits on its stand. I grasp the smooth neck and pull up Clarke’s stool.


	20. Your Love Is My Drug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO BAD at writing the songs for this fic, you guys. Thank you for bearing with me. I just need them to get the point across.

My birthday begins with a prod in my cheek.

“Fuck,” I snort, waking fully with a start. Octavia’s outstretched finger, still close to my face, almost pokes me in the eye when I sit up. I’ll admit, that one’s on me.

“Happy birthday!” my four adorable roommates chorus, and I can’t even be mad at them.

“Doesn’t count as happy until I’ve had food,” I grumble half-heartedly.

Monroe picks a tray up off Octavia’s bedside table. “Then you’ll be positively chipper before long.”

I let out a delighted gasp, clasping my hands. The tray is adorned with a pink flower and laden with pancakes with butterscotch chips, hash browns, a liberal heap of bacon, and an apple for some pretense at health.

“Who died and made me queen?” I gush, a strip of bacon already halfway to my mouth.

“Breakfast in bed: check,” Raven says seriously.

“Tell me you don’t actually have a to-do list for me,” I warn.

“It’s our first birthday in the house!” Harper effuses. “We have to do it right.”

“And I  _ am _ expecting exactly the same thing for my birthday,” Raven promises.

“Oh, well, as long as it’s fair,” I acquiesce.

I’m instructed to put on my favorite outfit (when I’m ready to get dressed), so I don my cute purple shorts, a navy blue t-shirt I stole from Wells, and my army green jacket, even though it’s summer. Hey, it’s my favorite. I’ve had it since high school.

The girls get me downstairs and promptly sit me down for my favorite movie.

“We’re watching Mamma Mia?!” I shriek when the first shot appears on screen. “We’re singing. You’re all singing.” I point demandingly. “My birthday, we’re singing.”

No one bothers to fight me on it. I love birthday rules. The five of us sing ABBA at the top of our lungs, really getting into it.

Once that’s over, we order my favorite pizza for lunch.

“What are the plans for the afternoon?” I ask through a mouthful of cheese.

“Up for rehearsal?” Harper asks. “We know it’s pretty everyday, but we always have a good time playing.”

“Definitely!” It’ll be nice to have some part of this day feel productive. “I have an idea for a song we can cover, if you want to give it a try.”

We only practice for about an hour, dissolving into laughter every time one of us hits a sour note. I’m so glad to have a band that’s willing (and able) to mess up and move on. There are no dramatic band fights with the five of us. Yet. It could always happen.

_ I don’t need to think about that on my birthday _ , I decide.

We retreat upstairs to re-dye our hair again. Thank god we’re actually making money now, because touching up our dye burns a real hole in our pockets.

“The image is secure!” Octavia declares when we’re finished and blow-dried.

“How’s your birthday so far?” Monroe checks in with me, the two of us leaning on the wall of the stained tub.

“It’s - ” I mean to say “perfect”, but I realize it’s not true. I haven’t seen Bellamy yet. “Wonderful,” I say instead. “Thank you.”

My phone dings. All our phones ding. We all fish them out of our pockets and read the same email.

_ Girls, _

_ I have some exciting news. The talk has started here at Cataclysm about Album #2. Now, we know the first one is still barely out on the market, but we’re not talking about anything immediate here. Think of this as my warning, if you want. You girls are selling very well, better than anything this little Virginia record company has put out yet. I’ve also heard a rumor about the new songs you’ve already debuted. Having a son so close to one of the stars has its perks. And speaking of that member of the band, happy birthday, Clarke. I hope your day is as satisfying as you deserve. _

_ Best, _

_ Thelonious _

“Huh,” Harper intones.

“Now there’s something to think about,” Raven comments.

“Can we talk about it at some later date?” I cut in before everyone can get excited and obsess over the idea of preparing a second album. My brain is stuck on my day being “satisfying”. “Not to be selfish, but when my birthday is over?”

“That’s cool,” Tavia agrees. “We’ll all need to think it over for ourselves before we jump into anything, anyway.”

So we let the matter drop. For now.

Since we’re already in the bathroom, it’s time for experimental makeovers. We all end up wiping away the outrageous eyeshadow and glitter, but not before we take dozens of selfies. It’s nice to have such close female friends. Glass and I love each other, but we were never really makeover-close. And Lexa and her friends were certainly not the type. It would be weird to make over your own girlfriend, anyway.

As fun as it is, though, now the thought of Bellamy is truly eating away at me. It’s almost five and I haven’t seen him all day.

“Are you guys planning on letting me see my other friends today, or am I eternally locked fairytale-style in the house by now?” I joke.

“Don’t worry, we’re going to Miller’s bar,” Raven assures me.

“But not until we finish all this CANDY!” Monroe announces, producing a grocery bag out of nowhere and dumping its contents in the middle of the floor.

I eye all the colorful packaging and nearly get a stomachache just thinking about putting all that sugar in my body.

-

“Worth it,” I groan twenty minutes later, lying on the cold bathroom tile with my roommates.

“Holy shit, can we take a while to burn this off?” Octavia moans. “And by ‘burn’ I mean ‘lie here for the next nine years so I don’t barf’.”

“Seconded,” Harper agrees.

We take a ten-minute breather, then eventually scoot together so that our bodies make up an elaborate cuddle puddle. I stroke Raven’s hair, her head lying on my stomach.

“I love you guys,” I say, feeling calm and comfortable. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. And not just today.”

“Love you too,” Monroe pats my thigh. “Happy birthday.”

Raven lifts her head to look at her phone. She and Octavia lock eyes. “Let’s go to Miller’s,” Raven suggests. “Buy the birthday girl a round of drinks.”

We pile into Octavia’s car, a little cramped with all five of us. But it gets us into the city and to the bar. Tae pulls into the alley, clearly intending to get in via the staff entrance.

Raven opens the door, revealing the dark back hallway. It doesn’t sound like the place is very busy tonight. I file in last, unable to see anything beyond Harper’s long hair.

We round the corner and the girls round on me all at once, startling me. And then - 

“SURPRISE!”

I freeze like a terrified hamster. A second later, though, my brain registers what’s going on in the rest of the bar.

Glass is sitting on top of a table, legs crossed. Luke is in a chair at the table. Monty and Jasper are standing on top of the actual bar, which Miller will have their asses for later. Lincoln, Lexa, Anya, and several other members of the Heda Band are gathered around the booths on the wall, like Indra and Nyko. I haven’t seen them in years. Wells is just behind the loose wall my roommates have formed, and a tear springs to my eye when I see him. And on the stage in the corner, the stage that I auditioned on to join the band, is Bellamy, a microphone in his hand.

“Oh my god,” is all I can say.

“Happy birthday, Clarke,” Bellamy’s amplified voice rings through the bar. “Let’s give it up for the birthday girl, huh?” he calls. The crowd made up of my friends cheers.

“Were you stalling with the candy?” I accuse Monroe, catching her in the stomach with the back of my hand.

“You love candy,” she protests, rubbing her gut.

“Surprise,” Raven gloats, her eyebrows raised high. I don’t have time to respond before they all turn and make their way to the stage. Glass hops off of her table and starts walking too.

“No way,” I grin.

Wells comes to my side and I pull him in for a strong hug. “What are you doing here?” I question him.

“Not missing another one of your birthdays, obviously,” he replies.

“Did you do all this?” I’m unbelievably touched. I’ll get around to the rest of the party eventually, but right now I only have eyes for my best friend.

But Wells shakes his head. “Bellamy invited me,” he explains.

And just like that, I’m shaky and wide-eyed. Bellamy did this for me? I want to look around, to find him, but for some reason I’m afraid of what might happen if I do.

The band starts playing a familiar tune, and Wells laughs.

“Of course they would,” he chuckles. I turn around, trying not to be so stiff. Instead of holding her guitar, Harper has her hands around the microphone. Well, someone’s gotta sing.

“It feels like a perfect night to dress up like hipsters,” she launches into Taylor Swift’s “22”.

I laugh along with the crowd. Wells pulls me up to the front of the stage, picking up well-wishers the whole way there like the Pied Piper.

“Happy birthday!” Jasper half-shouts into my ear. He has a girl with him. “This is Maya,” he introduces.

“Nice to meet you,” I call back to her. She looks mousy, but cute.

“Happy birthday!” she congratulates.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling 22!” I sing along with Harper. My surrounding friends start singing too.

This might be the greatest feeling in the world. Being surrounded by most of the people I love, in a place where I feel safe, all gathered together to celebrate me, of course. As selfish as it is, I’m incredibly gratified by this attention.

“Hey!”

I whirl and almost whack Bellamy in the face. “Sorry!” I yell back. He’s smiling at me sheepishly, on the fringe of the dancing crowd. “Hey, thank you,” I shout, grabbing his arm to make sure I have his attention. And because I want to touch his arm. There’s no point in denying it. The knowledge that he planned a huge surprise party for me makes my heart soar. I can indulge in it tonight. It’s my birthday. “You have no idea how much this all means to me.”

“You like it?” Bellamy asks. I nod, easier than yelling myself hoarse.

“It’s perfect,” I mouth.

The song ends, and Bellamy has the oddest reaction. His face goes from smiling to slack, his body straightening up from how it was leaning toward me. He squares his shoulders, finally breaking eye contact with me, and walks away. I’m mystified.

I tap Wells on the arm, watching as Bellamy appears on the stage. Raven hands him her guitar, and then ushers the rest of the band off the stage.

What is going on?

Wells shrugs, as if hearing my thoughts.

“Free Bird!” someone yells at the back of the bar, and everyone laughs. Bellamy doesn’t.

“Um,” he says into the mic, putting it on its stand. “Hi, everybody.”

Octavia and the other girls appear on my other side. “What?” she hisses at Raven. “I thought we were playing.”

I’m transfixed on the spot, waiting for Bellamy to continue.

“This is something I wrote,” he explains, clearly feeling awkward. “I need to perform this for you.” When he says that, his eyes meet mine. I relax.

Bellamy picks out a melody on Raven’s guitar. It’s major and mid-tempo, catchy without being dance-y. I love it already.

“The way your eyes gleam in the dark

Gets right into my soul,

You are a huntress, I’m your mark

But you’ve already taken me whole.

A hundred people and I’d still find you

No matter how far apart,

No matter the dangers I might go through

They’d never get my heart,

Because it’s with you.

Somehow I always knew.”

Octavia gasps.

I can barely tear my eyes away from Bellamy, but her reaction gets my attention. Tavia’s eyes are shimmering with moisture. I put my hand on her shoulder, not daring to speak.

“He never sings anymore,” she explains simply.

I’ve never heard Bellamy sing, I realize. Not in the car, not at any of our shows. Not even in the shower when we lived together.

My heart is pounding, my mind lagging behind.

Bellamy never sings. But he’s singing for me.

And then the lyrics click.

I seize the nearest arm - Wells’s. He looks down at me with alarm, but the expression fades. He knows what this means. Everyone in the silent bar does.

Bellamy returns my feelings. I don’t know if it’s possible for him to return them to the full extent that I feel them, because my heart is pounding and my knees are wobbling - thanks for the support, Wells - and it feels a little like I can’t breathe. I’m totally in love with this amazing man.

I can barely stand to wait; blessedly, Bellamy plays his last chord. Whoops and cheers sound from behind me, but I don’t have attention to spare for those. I relinquish Wells and leap onto the stage, my mission clear.

Bellamy looks up, having set the guitar down on the stage.  _ That’s for the best _ , I think a nanosecond before flinging my arms around his neck, surprising him. It takes him a second to return my embrace, but when he does, all the noise of the party evaporates.

Without wasting another second, I pull back in his arms, cup his face in my hands, and kiss him.

One of his hands goes to my hair. The feeling of him carding through it nearly makes my heart explode. The other tightens on my waist, sparking a warm sense of security. If I weren’t so happy, I would cry.

“Clarke,” he whispers, pulling away to rest his forehead on mine. I don’t open my eyes. If I do, this might all be gone, a dream of the best night of my life.

“Aaaaaaaand  _ finally _ ,” Raven’s voice cuts through. A wolf whistle rings out over even louder applause than before.

“Punching above your weight, huh, Blake?” someone else yells. It sounds like Wick.

“Clarke?” Bellamy murmurs again. “Would you look at me?”

I open my eyes, ready to give Bellamy whatever he asks for. His eyes hold the barest bit of trepidation, but only for a moment. His beautiful wide smile spreads across his face when I blink up at him.

“We should let the girls have the stage,” he suggests.

“Oh, yeah,” I remember. He chuckles, low and close. Something flips around in my stomach.

We pull apart, not letting go of each other’s hands as we step down from the stage. Raven punches Bellamy in the arm as she passes him on her way to her guitar. I think I hear her mutter something like “when did I become the fucking love guru” before we’re out of earshot.

I want to take Bellamy into a quiet corner and talk -  _ talk _ , I  _ swear _ \- but that idea is hampered a bit by the wonderful party it was his idea to throw. I field dozens of congratulations (sounding a bit double-meaning, as they look at Bellamy) and conversations with our erratic, kind, hilarious friends. Bellamy, still not leaving my side, participates in the socialization, but I can feel his impatience the same as mine.

We drink, and eat, and dance to the music my beloved friends play for us, for hours. Even Murphy (who is here at the behest of Emori) seems to be having a good time. Finally I decide to take matters into my own hands. This is my party, and I can leave whenever I want.

“We’re leaving,” I tell Raven, beckoning her to the edge of the stage between songs.

“See you at home?” she asks, shooting a quick glance to Bellamy, standing a few feet back from me.

I shake my head. “Nope. Tell the girls thanks. Today was completely perfect.” Then I kiss her on the cheek and join Bellamy. He waves goodbye to Octavia and wraps his arm around my waist. I get goosebumps over every inch of my body.

We don’t talk until we’re in his car.

“Back to my place?” he asks. I smile, hearing the tinge of nervousness underlying his question.

“Definitely,” I confirm.

We make it to the apartment in record time.

As soon as Bellamy opens the door, all my desire to talk with him, to tell him everything I’ve wanted to say for months now, mysteriously vanishes. I can tell him a good portion of that stuff a different way.

He seems to be thinking the same thing, because our mouths meet halfway, urgent and clumsy. I take his arms and pull him to the couch, wanting nothing more than to get lost in his lips forever.

All too soon, though, the long day and the emotional overhaul set in. I pull away regretfully, my lips tingling addictively. Bellamy’s lips chase mine, and it makes me smile. He does pull back, though, looking at me intently.

“Clarke,” he begins - I can’t stop smiling, the tender way he says my name - “we should talk about this. Not that I’m not… happy,” he adds hurriedly, though I get the feeling he wants to use a different adjective. “I want to know what you’re thinking.”

“Me too,” I try to say, but it gets garbled by a huge yawn. Bellamy laughs. It makes him sound carefree and beautiful. My cheeks hurt from grinning. “Can we sleep first?” I request. “We’ll still be here in the morning.”

He’s already nodding. “Go, take my bed,” he offers. “I’ll - ”

“Bellamy Blake,” I cut him off, “if you are about to decline sharing a bed with me  _ again _ I am going to hit you in your pretty face. Don’t try me,” I threaten. He shakes his head, failing to tamp down his own smile. “You get in that bed with me and don’t you get up until you’ve gotten it into your head that two mature,  _ interested _ adults can sleep next to each other.”

“Damn, all right,” he accepts, making a big show of rising from the couch and offering a hand. “So bossy.”

“You love it,” I scoff.

Bellamy nods.

I swallow, turning to the bedroom so I can focus on getting there before I fall asleep standing up. We will  _ definitely _ be talking about that in the morning.

We lie down on top of the covers, the June air too hot to need blankets. Without any more prompting, Bellamy pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me. I push a foot in between his, trying to insinuate myself as close as possible.

We’ll still be here in the morning, all right.


	21. I Can't Help Falling In Love With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO HOW 'BOUT THAT PREMIERE

In the middle of the night, I wake up, confused as to why the lights are still on. Clarke is still lying peacefully in my arms, close to my chest. Her breath on my neck reminds me of everything that happened last night. Or I guess four hours ago, judging by my clock. I just look at her, content not to move or make a sound. The girls must have worn her out yesterday.

Her clothes, rumpled now from wearing them all day and sleeping in them, don’t match, but as always, she makes it work. Her purple denim shorts and a big blue shirt are almost covered up by her favorite jacket. This moment might be my favorite memory already, even as I’m living in it.

Clarke’s mouth is open slightly, her brow uncreased. Even though we’ve shared a bed before, she was always the one to wake up first, so I’ve never seen her sleep. At least, not since the nights she spent on our couch. I’d be content to live out the rest of my life watching her chest rise and fall, though.

Turns out that moment is surpassable, as I find out a few minutes later when Clarke stirs and opens her eyes blearily.

She blinks at me a few times, and then turns just slightly pink when she realizes where she is. I smile.

“So… it wasn’t a dream, I guess,” she muses.

I can’t do anything but put my finger under her chin and kiss her.

Clarke kisses me back once, twice, then pulls back, sighing contentedly. “We said we’d talk,” she reminds me.

“You sure you don’t want to sleep more? You were only out four hours,” I tell her.

“Trying to avoid a conversation, Bellamy?” she teases me, but her smile falters a little.

“No,” I amend quickly. “I just… don’t want you saying anything you don’t mean under the influence of fatigue.”

“Fatigue,” Clarke snorts. “Like I’ve been wandering in the woods for days without rest.” Neither of us says anything for a minute, just looking at each other. “Fine, I’ll go first,” she decides, moving out from my arms and scooting around the bed until she’s lying on her stomach facing me. “Obviously, I don’t think of you as just a friend.” My insides flip. “You are much,  _ much _ more to me than that. And you… feel the same way?”

“I really do,” I confirm. Her smile matches my own. She buries her face in her folded arms in front of her. Even so, my words don’t feel good enough. “I am  _ so _ into you it’s almost embarrassing. No, actually, it is actively embarrassing, but I don’t care enough to feel it. You saw my performance last night.”

I say it in a self-deprecating way, but Clarke pierces right through me with her intense blue stare. “The performance that made me realize you like me back and started this whole thing? Yeah, I saw it, and I loved it.” She takes my hand, really wanting to convey her point. “That song was… was unbelievable. I  _ literally _ thought it was a dream just now. I can’t believe you did all that for me.”

I want to lean forward and kiss her again - I’m much better with actions than with words - but I know she wants to have this conversation until it’s finished. I don’t know how long that might be, but I’m in it until the end. “I had to tell you how I felt,” I explain lamely. “The song just came to me, and I needed to play it for you. In front of all our friends, apparently.” I can’t resist joking to ease the solemnity.

“Actually, about that,” Clarke’s brow furrows. “Octavia said you never sing anymore.”

“I do too,” I blurt, surprised by the topic change. “I sing. I sang for Kass, when we were at Callie’s house.”

“Well, never where I could hear,” Clarke retorts. “Tae seemed really moved.”

I almost deny it again, but then I think about it. I don’t sing in the shower. I never sing in the car, usually tired in the morning and then tired again after work. Octavia’s the truly musical one, but I gave her guitar lessons, not singing. I guess I haven’t really sung in… a long time.

“Since Mom died,” I say out loud. Clarke looks stricken at once. “She was the singer. With her gone, there was no one who liked to do it anymore. I still played guitar, so there was music in the house. I forgot.” I bring Clarke’s knuckles to my lips, still wrapped around my hand. “It just means you’re special,” I half-joke.

She smiles weakly. “It was beautiful,” she tells me. “Your voice is so rich. I wish you’d sing. I wanna hear it.”

“I’ll sing whatever you want,” I intone seriously.

“Later,” she grins. “For now I have more questions.” She shuffles her body up the bed again, pressing her face into my chest. I bring my hand to her hair. “When did you start liking me?” she asks, wheedling.

“Probably when I heard you affect a country drawl on YouTube,” I answer annoyingly. She makes an indignant noise and hits me with a fist. “I’m serious!” I protest. “Those bluegrass videos did things to me, princess.” She colors becomingly, pursing her lips. “Hey, I’m not the only one with crystal-clear pipes. You know how I love your voice. Maybe I should make  _ you _ sing too.”

“For fairness’ sake,” Clarke agrees mock-seriously.

“Mmhmm.” I press my lips to her forehead. “What about you, if I may be so bold? Was it my welcoming attitude or my suave personality that drew you to me?”

“It was your shapely legs,” Clarke shoots back.

“I knew it.”

“I think when you practically begged me to move in on bended knee,” she amends. “That was pretty hot. Of course, it showcased your kindness and generosity. And your legs are a nice bonus.”

“That’s fair.”

Clarke’s stomach grumbles after we lapse into silence. We both laugh.

“I’ll get food,” I offer, rising from the bed.

“I’m the hungry one,” Clarke protests, getting up too.

“It’s my house.”

“You make something, I’ll watch,” she compromises, joining me on my side of the room and wrapping her arms around my middle.

“You’re gonna have to let me go if we want to walk to the kitchen,” I remind her, folding her in my arms anyway.

“In a minute.” She rests her head on my chest. The thought occurs to me that she might be listening to my heart. That idea makes it speed up. Clarke smiles.

-

I make Clarke food, and then she falls back asleep. It is only five A.M., after all. But I’m too awake, so I get out my applications again. I’ve already filled out three, but I have time, so I’m going slow, working on the bed next to Clarke’s prone body.

She wakes up again an hour later, nudging the stack of papers with her foot. She looks down quizzically, then looks at me for an answer.

“What are you doing?” She sits up, looking over my shoulder.

I’m caught. “Octavia’s not going to college,” I hedge, capping my pen. “I have a lot of money saved up for her that’s useless now. So I’m… applying to schools.”

I finally turn my head to the awkward angle I need to meet Clarke’s eyes. Her big eyes are scanning my face, as if to determine whether I’m joking.

“Bellamy, that’s great,” she responds, and then she reaches down to grab one of the finished apps. I don’t bother to stop her. “Wait - ” she studies the document. “Walden University? That’s in Minnesota.”

“It’s only one school,” I insist. “They have a good classics department.”

Clarke’s anxiety melts into what I think is fond amusement. “You would go for the nerdy stuff. That’s perfect for you.”

“You think so?”

“Of course. You know every myth and Roman emperor that ever existed.” She looks at the Walden application again. “You’re gonna leave.”

“I don’t know,” is all I can say. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“Well, aren’t I a wrench in the plan,” Clarke says wryly.

“You are not a wrench in anything.” I gather everything and put it on the floor. Clarke’s hair covers her face; I brush it away, taking her face in my hands. I shouldn’t be doing this, but I’m too stubborn to listen to my rational side. “I love you, Clarke. I’ll never go anywhere you don’t want me to go.”

Clarke takes in a breath, not quite a gasp. Fuck. It was the best day of my life, while it lasted. At least I finally got to be honest with her.

She reaches for me and guides my face to her own. This is the best kiss so far. But then, I’ve thought that about all of them.

“I love you,” she whispers before kissing me again.

I pull away, lying back on the bed. “Are you kidding me?” I groan.

“Bellamy?” Clarke asks, alarmed.

“The girl of my dreams loves me back,” I say in total wonder.

“Yeah, yeah, can we revel later? I was planning on making out with you.”

-

“Not to be all third grade about this, but does this mean you’re my boyfriend now?”

I smile and wrap Clarke closer to my chest. “I think that could be an apt description.”


	22. Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END. Thank you all for taking the time for this story. It means more than you could possibly know. I love you all.

Octavia and I wake up at the same time. It’s a little late for my taste, but the autumn days are beginning later and later, and we also stayed up late into the night last night talking. I roll over in my twin bed to face her.

Tavia shifts too, dragging her blanket over her shoulders.

“Lincoln’s quitting the band,” she tells me, like a continuation of last night’s conversation. But that was one topic we didn’t touch on in the dark.

I sit up, my interest piqued. “That’s unexpected.”

“Not to me.” Octavia sighs, her messy bun flopping down the side of her head, having been slept on and messed up. “He’s moving here.”

“Wow. That’s a big step.”

“And I was thinking…” she trails off. Then her bravery kicks in. “What if he moved in here?”

I let the idea sink in for a few seconds. “I don’t see why not,” I determine. “We already test-ran it with Wick.”

Raven and Wick made it official about two months ago, and one month later, Wick moved in. Raven has her own room, though, which I can already tell is what’s worrying Octavia.

“Yeah,” she says, raising her hands above her face and picking at a fingernail. “We could be in the basement.”

“Yeah!” I agree, perhaps too effusively. We’ve been cleaning and refurbishing the basement since we moved in; it’s almost downright liveable now. Tons of throw rugs on the floor and a cozy couch will do that. We have our friends over all the time, just drinking and messing around. It’s a blast.

But then another idea creeps into my head.

I let it take root, smelling breakfast cooking downstairs. Abandoning my introspection, I slide my legs out of bed, touching the chilly floor.

“I think it’s a great idea, Tae,” I say, walking over to her bed and sitting by her feet. “Let’s talk to the others.”

Octavia holds her hands up beseechingly, shooting me a pathetic look. I roll my eyes and pull her upright, standing up together. We head down the stairs, brushing our hair out of our eyes.

“Look who’s up!” Harper teases, scrambling eggs on the stove. Tavia jabs her in the side, making her shriek. Monroe is sitting slumped at the table, a half-eaten piece of toast with jam lying on a plate in front of her. Raven leans over her, her head resting on Monroe’s back. Wick is at the toaster, popping more bread in the slots.

This is a familiar sight now, but it never fails to make me smile.

And then the happy picture is completed by Bellamy walking in the side door, his hair settling down from blowing in the wind.

“Morning,” he greets, taking his place next to me and kissing my cheek. My heart probably shouldn’t pound at the tender gesture anymore, but it still does.

It’s been four months since we started dating, and every day’s been better than the last. Falling in love with Bellamy was so natural I barely even noticed it until I was fully in, but as that love has deepened, I’ve felt every moment of it. I feel more complete when he’s with me. Not that I’m not a complete person on my own, but he makes me… more.

“Hi,” I reply, my fingers interlocking with his. “What are you doing here?”

“Class was cancelled,” he tells me, his lips lifting in a smile.

Bellamy’s been taking classes at the local community college. His applications got sent out so late that he won’t start at his real school until spring semester, so he’s passing the time with basic Latin courses. He’s not going to Minnesota, though. He’s been accepted to a good school a mere half hour out of the city.

“Want breakfast?” Wick asks, patting Raven’s back as he puts another plate of toast in front of her and Monroe. Octavia snags a slice before they can look up.

“Nah, I ate before I checked my email.”

I came downstairs to eat, but Bellamy’s arrival seems like an act of fate, considering what I was just thinking while talking with Octavia. I give him a look, knowing he’ll understand that I wanna talk.

“I’m gonna head downstairs and watch some TV,” I announce. Harper’s brought the eggs to the table, and everyone’s stuffing themselves. When no one reacts, I nod to Bellamy and we go down to the basement.

“What’s up?” he asks, leading me to the couch.

“I have some news,” I tell him. “Lincoln’s done working with Lexa. He’s moving to the area… and maybe our house.” It’s pretty safe to talk about Octavia’s relationship with Lincoln now (I like to think I mellowed Bellamy out about it), but I still hesitate. I don’t have any siblings, but I remember how weird it was when Callie, who feels practically like a sister, moved in with her first boyfriend.

Bellamy nods. “Okay.” He clearly doesn’t get it yet.

“The problem is, Tavia and I obviously share a room…” I trail off. “So I was thinking, what if we kept the maximum capacity of the house at six?” Oh god, is it too early in our relationship for this? “What if I moved in with you?”

Bellamy isn’t shocked into gasping like he would have been four months ago. Instead, a slow smile spreads across his face, and my doubts are assuaged.

“I think… that’d be a great idea,” he agrees.

Even as I feel the low thrill of excitement, having made a big decision, I’m already dreading leaving. I hug Bellamy awkwardly from my sitting position, trying to tamp it down.

“You’re not thrilled about this,” Bellamy says, not making it a question. He can pinpoint my feelings so easily.

“I’m happy, I am,” I cover quickly. “I just now realized what it means, moving in with you. I have to move out of the house.”

Bellamy releases me, looking up at the ceiling, above which our friends laugh and talk. “I understand,” he assures me, holding my hand. “You put a lot of work into this place. But, as I recall you saying to me when you moved in here, it’s only a few minutes away.”

I nod, trying to smile. I hold his cheek and kiss him. “You get me,” I sigh contentedly.

“And I get you  _ forever _ ,” he gloats, nudging my cheek with his nose.

“Does this make up for me moving out with the others back in the spring?” I tease. “I was definitely the one you were missing, I know it.”

“You were responsible for a lot of the missing,” Bellamy states solemnly.

“Well, we’d better tell the others the news,” I change the subject, getting to my feet again. Before I can walk away, my boyfriend wraps his arms around my waist. “Octavia will be thrilled she doesn’t have to move into the basement with Lincoln.”

“Let me be happier than my sister for like two seconds,” Bellamy resists petulantly, his forehead on my stomach. I laugh wryly and whack his shoulder. “Okay, let’s go,” he decides, getting off the couch.

-

I change the address on my paperwork in Jaha’s office. The girls and I have been coming in to start recording our second album for about a week now. We put off the decision to sign another contract until we had enough songs prepared to actually fill up a CD. We’ve barely begun the recording process again, but it already feels familiar and comfortable. I wouldn’t exactly call us old hands at this, but we’re plowing along just as efficiently as the first album.

Our sound is obviously a little different, but any misgivings the label had were quickly swept away when they heard me sing on the demo. I hate to brag, but the fact remains that I have a good voice.

I sing all the time now, even more than I did before. In the shower, so Bellamy can hear while he’s making breakfast. Before bed, so I can see him smile before I drift off to sleep. When we drive anywhere, when we watch a musical on TV, when Miller hosts his new karaoke nights at the bar.

And the best part is, Bellamy joins in.

Usually not the karaoke part, but when it’s just the two of us at home. Or even sometimes when our friends are around. Especially Octavia.

She’s helping Lincoln settle in to his new digs. He was incredibly touched by my decision to vacate Octavia’s room; I know because he shot me a text saying “Thanks.” It was amazing. I know how Lincoln is.

I still hang out at the house all the time, and so does Bellamy. It’ll always be my home in a million ways: the dye stains in the tub, my drum kit in the corner of the living room, the spot on the wall in the hallway where the girls and I measured ourselves one night when we were drunk and nostalgic. The ugly paint colors I helped choose for the walls, the broken blind in Octavia’s room. The people who live there, drawing me back day after day. I love that house. Bellamy understands, of course. I love him more than anything, but I love my girls almost equally. That’s why I color and frame the portraits of them I drew six months ago, hanging them in my practice room.

“You should make wallet sizes, so you can carry them around everywhere you go,” Bellamy teases when I show him my work.

“I’ll get a locket,” I roll my eyes.

He enfolds me in his arms, surrounding me with his beautiful scent. “It’s nice having them here, though.”

I agree.

-

I’ve built a life I never dreamed I’d have, but I made it my own anyway.

I’ve never been happier.


End file.
